


Quest for a Supervisor

by etienneofthewestwind



Series: Sealed Slayer [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Canon, Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etienneofthewestwind/pseuds/etienneofthewestwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a delusional unsub targets members of the BAU with his taunts, the disappearance of SSA Aaron Hotchner and his family is discovered.  The remaining team members scramble to decipher the cryptic clues and save one of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place at the end of Criminal Minds season one. The episode ‘Machismo’ which first aired April 12, 2006, had the Mexican Day of the Dead celebrations (October 31-November 2). So for the purposes of this story, ´The Fisher King´ takes place mid-December 2006. According to the farmersalmanec.com the temperature in Washington DC spiked into the low 70s °F (21-24 °C) for a couple days, so the characters who wore short sleeves aren’t even a continuity error. CM cannon up to the season finale more or less matches the series, with minor tweaking of a few character’s backstories. Buffy cannon and backstories have been folded, spindled and mutilated. However, this takes place in the equivalent of Buffy season seven.

_The sound of a phone ringing filled the living room._

_“Hello, we can’t take your call right now,” a man’s voice played from an answering machine next to the phone on the end table.  “You know the drill.”_

_“Agent Hotchner,” a harsh voice spilled through the answering machine after the tone.  “Don’t waste time on the first victims; they were unrepentant bad men._ She’s _the important one.  Remember, everything starts at the beginning.  There won’t be much time.  The youngest holds the key.  You_ must _help him save her.”_

 _The call clicked off and silence once again filled the house.  Sometime later, the phone rang again.  “Hello, we can’t_ — _”_

 _“HOTCH, PICK UP!” a voice called over the spiel.  “IF YOU’RE THERE,_ PLEASE _!  ELLE’S BEEN ARR_ — _”  The answering machine beeped, and the person on the phone took a deep breath.  “Hotch, it’s Morgan.  Elle’s been arrested for a murder at the resort we’re visiting.  Whoever did it left a deliberate blood trail to her room.  We’re in Montego Bay, Jamaica.  Call me as soon as you get this.  We need help."_

_Morgan hung up.  A couple minutes later, the full moon emerged from behind a cloud.  Its light shone through the Hotchners’ translucent drapes and reflected off the pieces of a crushed cell phone._

* * *

"Gideon!" Jason Gideon turned and saw Jennifer Jareau walking across the bullpen.  The blonde quickly caught up with him.  “I’ve been trying to call you.”

“Why?”

"Someone sent you a head?"

“From Jamaica," Jason replied, unsurprised.  News like that tended to travel fast.

"Morgan and Elle are in Jamaica right now," JJ replied.  "There was a murder—the body was headless.  Elle's been arrested for it."

"What?"  Elle Greenaway was at times too brash for his taste, but he did not believe her capable of something like that. 

"Strauss flew down this morning with a Bureau lawyer and a couple forensics experts to straighten everything out." 

"Strauss?"  Jason figured the BAU's new section chief would be more focused on damage control than getting Elle released.  "I'd have thought Hotch would insist on going himself."

A flash of worry crossed JJ's face.  "We can't reach him.  His cell's going straight to voicemail, and he isn’t answering up his landline.  When Morgan couldn’t reach him last night, he called me, and I notified Strauss.  We figured we'd hear from Hotch this morning, but..."  JJ swallowed hard.  "I just tried him again.  Even if his home phone has the ringer turned off, they have an answering machine, not voicemail.  They would have heard it pick up.  I was about to look up his address and check on them."

"I should come along," Jason said.  "Just in case..."  Jason closed his eyes and quickly prayed that the Hotchners were just out of the house and had not thought to check their machine when they woke up.  "They're probably fine, but—”

“I know.”  JJ cut him off. 

* * *

As they left, JJ fully briefed him on the situation: aside from Elle’s predicament, Reid had called in after receiving an odd package—nothing grizzly, though the 'save her' theme that came with the head had been part of it—and someone had hacked Garcia’s system to access the Bureau databases and breach the BAU’s personnel files, which explained how the unsub had known where to send his packages and set Elle up.  They spent the rest of the drive into DC in silence, each agent lost in their own thoughts.  The Hotchner home was located in a nice neighborhood: quiet, low-crime, good place to raise kids—all the labels that ordinary people who never dreamed of the depths of the human psyche used to convince themselves they were safe.  The feel of the place reminded Gideon of a time he had long lost.

A time he doubted he could truly remember the feeling of.

JJ tried calling one last time as Jason parked in front of the Hotchner home.  It was a white, two-story home with a separate garage next to it.  Hotch’s sedan sat in the driveway.  The house had a well-manicured lawn with well-trimmed trees and shrubbery.  A sidewalk cut through the lawn from the street to the three short steps in front the stoop.  When Hotch again failed to pick up, JJ turned to Jason and grimly shook her head.  The gesture, unnecessary given the lack of conversation, was more an expression of her worry than anything. 

"Let's do this." Jason opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle and strode to the front door.  JJ headed toward the garage.  He rang the bell, and then knocked firmly on the door frame.  He hoped that Hotch or Haley would answer, but no one came to the door.  JJ walked up to his side. 

"Whatever Haley drives isn’t here," she reported.   

"We should have Garcia look that up.  Put out an APB."  Jason walked down the steps, and around the shrubs in front of the house.  White, translucent curtains covered the inside of the bay window.  A light inside allowed him to see the outline of furniture, but no clear detail of the room.  "You check around back?"

"Not yet."

Jason nodded in acknowledgement as he walked around the corner of the house.  He absently registered JJ’s following.  The backyard looked as neat as the front, with nothing out of place.  All the windows were covered by blinds or curtains, and the back door was locked.  Gideon sighed as he surveyed the back lawn, as immaculately landscaped as the front. 

 _They must have a lawn service,_ Jason thought absently.  _No way is Hotch home enough to keep up with this..._   He turned to the short space between the house and garage.  Like the rest of the property, there was nothing to suggest foul play. 

Except Hotch's conspicuous silence.  Morgan might joke about not answering his phone over vacation, but Hotch took his duty too seriously.  Jason sighed and walked over to the kitchen door.  The top was glass, and the lock looked easy to force from the inside...

"Hey Garcia," JJ spoke, startling him.  Jason turned to her.  The blonde agent was a couple paces behind him, staring at a basement window as she talked on her phone.  "I need you to…  HOTCH IS _MISSING_!  Now, I know you’re focused on catching whoever hacked your system, but we know he accessed our team’s personnel files.  I need you to go back and see if he altered Hotch’s current location, before we do anything drastic like break into his house…  No, we’re here now, and his cell’s going straight to voicemail since last night.  So unless they’re out of service range…  Probably the same unsub who sent the head to Gideon…  Yeah, an actual human head...  From Jamaica…  It’s all over the office…   Well I assumed someone had…  We think it goes with the body at the resort Elle and Morgan went to…  Reid got a strange message in Vegas…  You’re sure…  Okay…  Well, it’s possible they’re all running errands.  Can you look up Hayley’s vehicle and put out an APB…?  What really?”  JJ asked as she pulled out a pocket notebook and pen.  “Where…  If it’s on the street, why…  _Oh._ Do you have a number…?  Possibly.  We’ll check it out…  Thanks, Garcia,” JJ said after she finished writing something down.  “You’re the best…  I’ll let you know…”

JJ hung up and turned to Jason.  “Garcia found no sign of tampering, but Haley’s new SUV came with a free portable GPS.  It’s in Maryland, just over the DC border, and near a house owned by Haley’s sister.  _She_ doesn’t have a landline, but cell service disruptions have been reported in the area since last night.  He probably just doesn’t know his battery died.”

“Thank God,” Jason sighed.  “You have the address?” 

JJ tore the sheet out of her notebook and handed it to him.

* * *

As Gideon drove down the street, neither agent noticed the living room drapes pull to the side.

* * *

Elle Greenaway knew she was being bitchy, and wanted to reveal in it, despite the voice of logic that said she should try to keep her head.  She had barely gotten to sleep when the Jamaican police had burst into her room and dragged her out of bed.  They had kept her in this over air-conditioned interrogation room ever since, handcuffed to the damn chair still in her sleepwear—black camisole and panties, _not_ something she ever planned on being publicly seen in—and she had to pee.  Badly.  Not that she intended to tell the annoying detective that, even if she could not quit bouncing her leg.  The stupid jackass would not believe that she had nothing to do with the murder.  Honestly, who saw an obvious blood trail to a bloodless hotel room and called it anything other than a pathetic setup attempt?

 “Who’s the victim?” the man folded his hands together and set his arms on the table.

“For the hundredth time, I didn’t even know that there _was_ a victim UNTIL YOU _DRAGGED ME OUT OF BED_!” 

“WHERE’S THE VICTIM’S HEAD!?” the man demanded, matching her raised voice.   He leaned over the table.

“Well, I must have dropped it on the way in here,” Elle said sarcastically. “Come on!  You know that I had nothing to do with this!  I’m an American FBI agent.  _I’m here on vacation, man_!”  Elle sighed as the last of the angry energy faded.  “I’m the police, just like you.”

An officer came into the room and dropped a file in front of the detective.  The man opened it as the officer left.  “Are you the ‘her’?”

“Excuse me?” Elle asked as the detective slid the folder across the table, tapping on the photo on top.  Clearly of the crime scene, it had the words “save her” written in blood over the headboard.  “I hope not,” Elle frowned.  “Though if this unsub’s delusional, I suppose it’s possible that he thought leaving a blood trail to my door would prompt you protect me from… something.” 

“Unsub?”

“Unknown Subject of Investigation.  Many US law enforcement groups use it instead of ‘the subject’.”

The detective nodded.  “And you arrived in Jamaica yesterday?”

“That’s right,” Elle confirmed.

The detective proceeded to inquire about everything she did since her flight landed.  He inquired thoroughly about the guy she had met over Frisbee and then danced with at the resort--and anyone who might have paid overmuch attention to the both of them.  Finally, the detective asked, “What time did you go to bed?”

“Around midnight… I think.”  Elle found herself shaking her head at that.  As a trained agent, she really should be able to trace her own steps better.  Just how strong were those umbrella drinks, anyway?  “I don’t really know.  It was late.”

“Were you alone?”

“By the time I got back to my room, yeah.” 

“Did you hear anyone or anything before you fell asleep?”

“No, I—”  the door to the interrogation room opened.  In walked a grey-haired man who appeared to be a Jamaican police official and a familiar blonde in a stern business suit. Elle’s stomach fell.  Chief Strauss’ reputation suggested that she would sooner protect the Bureau from the fallout of her arrest than battle for her release. 

Not that the pencil pusher would necessarily realize this was a snafu anyway. 

Morgan followed the pair to the doorway, and stood leaning against the door of the interrogation room.  Elle met his eyes and instantly read the worry there.  “Detective St. Pierre,” the man nodded at Elle’s interrogator.  “Agent Greenaway, I apologize for the inconvenience, but I’m sure you understand the necessity of thoroughly eliminating suspects as soon as possible.”

Elle’s instinctive response was rather acerbic, though she bit it back and nodded curtly. 

“Sir?” St. Pierre asked.  “We’re still going over—” 

“Agent Greenaway only arrived in the country yesterday afternoon,” the older man stated, handing St. Pierre the file.  “Our coroner has concluded that your body has been dead at least twenty-four hours.  As such, we’re releasing Agent Greenaway into her superior’s custody.”  St. Pierre grudgingly tossed a handcuff key across the table.  Elle grabbed it and quickly freed herself.  Now she just needed to get some clothes. 

But first, a bathroom.

* * *

“Cordy!”

The brunette woman groaned as the vision ended and the force holding her prone body five inches above the floor vanished.  With a sigh, she picked herself up from the floor.  A pair of concerned hands grabbed her shoulders and helped her to a chair.  “Angel,” she muttered, grabbing one of the man’s hands.

“What did you see?” 

Cordelia Chase blinked and looked across the room, not at the curly-haired brunette woman who had asked, but the green-skinned, red-horned demon nursing a cocktail by her side.  “That Slayer you knew in high school—the one whose power was sealed—you sure she’s dead?”

“The next Slayer was called.”

Cordelia’s eyes narrowed as Lorne refused to meet her gaze.  “So was Kendra.”

“Yes, that was quite a first, wasn’t it?  Give the Slayer CPR; have two.  But while Hale sure as hell would not go gently, even without her Slayer gifts, she still disappeared into that horde.  The only one who could describe her exact fate barely survived himself, and all but abandoned the supernatural world thereafter.”

“That'd be the tall, dark and stoic partblood Anya brought in for Faith’s meltdown?” Cordelia continued. 

"Anyanka's grandson, yes."

“Did he try to negotiate with the Powers to break her seal?" Cordelia pressed on, aware of the growing attention and concern from the other members of Angel Investigation.  Fortunately, they were content to listen, instead of interrupt.

“Why?” the anagogic demon demanded, posture suddenly rigid.

“The Powers put the deal into play.”

Lorne’s Sea Breeze crashed to the floor.

* * *

"How are you holding up?” Morgan asked Elle as she finished checking out. 

“Can’t fucking wait to get out of paradise,” she muttered as the desk clerk gave her her receipt. 

Morgan sighed.  “Yeah, I’m sorry the vacation was such a bust.”

“Hardly your fault.”  Elle slung her suitcase strap over her right shoulder, and stalked through lobby.  “I just want to go home and put the whole nightmare out of my mind.”

“That may be easier said than done, Agent Greenaway,” Strauss said as the pair reached the doors.  She put her cell phone into her purse as they walked outside.  The rental sedan that brought them over waited in front of the building, the stony Agent Jones sitting in the driver’s seat.  Elle and Morgan got into the back while Strauss climbed into the front passenger seat.  After they began the drive to the airport, Strauss turned to face them.  “The blood trail to your door was no coincidence, Agent Greenaway.  Yesterday, Analyst Garcia discovered that somebody hacked her system and used it as a gateway to access your team’s personnel files in the Bureau database—specifically your emergency contact info for the duration of your vacation.  Shortly before Dupree got the anonymous tip about Harris’ murder, Agent Gideon received a late night delivery of a human head.  Return address: Montego Bay.”

“You mean Harris’ head,” Elle said.

“Any positive ID on the head will be released after we’re in the air,” Strauss replied sharply.  Then she sighed.  “Though I’d be surprised if CSU comes to a different conclusion.  There’s something else…”  Strauss’ voice lost its sternness.  To Elle it sounded almost apologetic.  “It appears that Agent Hotchner and his family have been abducted.”

“WHAT!?” Morgan roared.  “YOU SAID HE JUST TRAVELED OUT OF PHONE RANGE!”

“That’s what it looked like!"  Strauss snapped back.  "We had his wife’s GPS at his sister-in-law’s, and the area had been having frequent cell service disruptions.  However, when Agents Jareau and Gideon drove out there to get him, they found the wife’s GPS unit on the ground, along with the SUV’s registered plates, and glass shards from every single second story window.  They called an evidence response team to the house and tried to interview the neighbors.  No one living on Ms. Brooks’ street had even _noticed_ the damage.”  Strauss’ voice now held disgust. 

“How noticeable was the damage?” Morgan asked. 

“From the photos Agent Jareau just sent me, very.  Anyway, try to get some sleep on the flight back.”  

“What?” Elle protested as Morgan opened his mouth.  “We need to figure out what’s going on!”

“Which will best be done at Quantico, after Agents Jareau and Gideon have finished processing Brooks’ house, and Agent Reid flies into Dulles with the package he received.  Neither of you have had a full night’s sleep, and you can do more good looking over everything with fresher eyes, than if you spend the next few hours working yourselves into exhaustion over this little slice of the puzzle.”

Morgan sighed.  “She has a point Elle,” he said.  Strauss frowned, clearly unhappy with either the comment or his tone.  Or both.  “But ma’am, I’m not sure I _can_ sleep at this point.  Not after everything that’s happened down here, much less what we’ve just learned.”

“I’m only asking that you try.”  Strauss’ tone softened.  “And if you can’t and need to crash later, check into a hotel.  I don’t want any of you going home alone until we know how many people have your personal info.”

* * *

“I’ll keep a close eye on him,” a brunette woman smiled at a black-haired man as she bounced a brown haired baby on her knee.  “Just do what you need to.  You know what to get, right?”

The man nodded, a grim expression on his face.  “Yes,” he said simply.

“Good.”  She gently grabbed one of the baby’s hands and lifted it up.  “Wave bye-bye to Daddy, Jack.”  The baby squealed happily as she moved his hand.

The man waved at the baby.  “Goodbye Jack,” he said.  “I promise to be back as soon as I can.”

“Relax _Dad_ ,” the brunette said.  “We’ll all be five by five.” 

“Right,” the man replied, glancing behind her into the rest of the SUV.  Then he turned through the parking lot.


	2. Chapter 2

“Agent Anderson,” Strauss greeted one of the junior agents as the group got off the elevators.  Brian Anderson was not on any of the profiling teams, though loosely associated with the BAU.  He did local grunt work for those in the unit, and helped coordinate travel.  “What’s the progress?”

The young man swallowed hard.  “CSU just identified the head sent to Agent Gideon as Marty Harris.  Agents Jareau and Gideon are on their way back in.  The ERTs just finished processing the Brooks house.  Apparently they found some weird things there—I’m not sure what that means, ma’am,” Anderson stated as Strauss opened her mouth, presumably to ask the same question that Elle was about to.  “Agent Reid’s flight should land at Dulles within the hour.  And we traced Frank Giles’ flight out of Jamaica.  He flew to Fort Meyers, Florida, and then got on a flight to Arlington.”

“That son-of-a-bitch is _local_?” Elle blurted.  “Sorry, ma’am,” she glanced back at Strauss, aware she did not sound sorry. 

“For stating my sentiments?”  Strauss sounded almost amused.  She turned to Anderson.  “Have we confirmed an address?” 

“No, ma’am.  They’re running local records and hotel registries now.”

“Good,” Strauss nodded. 

“What do we have on Marty Harris?” Morgan asked.

“Fetish burglar; registered child sex offender.  Also, Giles has an extensive criminal record: manslaughter; robbery; rape.”   Behind them, the other elevator chimed and opened.  Elle turned and saw JJ and Gideon walk out.

 “If you two are sure you don’t need any more sleep—”

“Positive,” Elle growled, cutting Strauss off.

“Then start working the case.  And Agent Gideon, I expect _regular_ updates.”  The woman turned and walked off toward her office. 

“Everyone into the conference room,” Gideon ordered, as he walked toward it. 

* * *

“So this guy is intent on playing with us,” Gideon started once the four of them— Elle, JJ, Derek and himself were seated at the round table. 

“Then let’s return the favor,” Elle growled. 

“He kept telling us to ‘save her’," Derek said, mentioning what had bugged him the most about the Jamaican scene before he heard about Hotch and his family.  “Why?  What her?  Haley?  Someone else?”

“Maybe her sister?” JJ asked.  Everyone’s attention turned toward her.  “Hotch’s file lists him as at home.  He might not have expected Hotch and Haley to be there."

"They," Elle said.  "One person couldn´t take three adults, especially when one´s a trained FBI agent who´d fight back."

"Not if the guy got to Jack," Gideon countered.  "If someone held a gun or knife to my kid, I´d comply fast.  I know the statistics on abduction, but I´d go with the hope that I could somehow gain the upper hand later."

"So you think it´s one guy?" Derek asked.  "Jamaica, Brooks´ place, that´s a lot of work for one guy."

"The messages feel like the work of one person," Gideon answered, "though a subordinate is possible.  It would certainly make the vandalism to Brooks´ house faster, if not easier."

"Was there any other damage besides the busted windows?"

"Both the front and back doors appear to have been kicked out.  The—"

"Kicked _out_?" Derek cut JJ off.  "Not in?"

"Out," Gideon confirmed.  "Both doorframes had the strike jambs splintered off, as well as damage to the hinges and hinge jambs.  The back door also had a hole kicked _through_ it.  _And_ had been previously kicked in."

"That´s... different," Elle said.  "And the unsub or unsubs took the time to knock out _every_ second floor window?"  JJ nodded.  "What the hell is the significance to that?"

“Beats me,” Derek admitted.  “Could it be an intentional clue?”

Gideon sighed, and rubbed his head.  “Perhaps.  Let’s get what we have on the board.”  JJ stood and walked over to the dry erase board on the north wall.  She wrote down, _Broken glass/Smashed windows/Break out(?)_.  “I got a decapitated head, and a 1963 Nellie Fox baseball card."  _Head in the box_ and _Nellie Fox 1963_ , joined the list of clues.  "Reid got a skeleton key, along with a note," Gideon continued.  "Did he happen to mention any specifics about it?" he asked as JJ wrote _skeleton key_.

"That someone would die unless Reid saved her.  And that you could fill him in.  Spence only called me because your cell was out of range at your cabin."

"Nellie Fox was one of the stars of the 1959 White Sox," Gideon mused.  "I went to nearly every game that summer with my father.  Fox was my idol.  Is that a coincidence, or does the unsub know that somehow?"

"You were unit chief before Hotch," Elle said.  "If he´s been planning this for a while, you might have been his original focus."

"Maybe still.  You _are_ in charge with Hotch gone missing," Derek pointed out grimly. 

"He thinks he´s doing me a favor?"  Gideon sighed loudly.  "If so, that makes Hotch´s abduction planned.  Why not leave a message at the scene?"

"And how did he know that Hotch would be at the sister´s?" JJ asked.

"He´s watching," Derek realized.  "Followed him." 

The room fell silent as JJ turned back to the board.  She wrote, _Abduction_ and _Followed (all?)_. 

" _All_?" Elle echoed.  "Son of a bitch.  He just might have."  She sighed and leaned back in her chair.  "If we´re treating everything as a potential clue, there’s my police raid and interrogation.”

“And the—”

“I found him!” Garcia slammed into the room, cutting off Derek’s comment about the headless corpse.  “The hacker.  His name is Giles.  Frank Giles.  He lives in Arlington, Virginia.  Here’s his address.”  She handed over a piece of paper. 

* * *

They vested up, and Jason called a SWAT team to assist the raid on Giles’ apartment.  Within the hour, they busted down the door.  Each room they cleared was empty until Morgan and Elle called Jason to Giles’ bedroom.  A bearded man, wearing only plaid boxer shorts lay on a bed in the middle of the room.  A medieval sword—a longsword, if Jason remembered his history classes correctly—had been pushed through the man’s chest, mattress, and into the top of the carpet.  Words in blood covered the wall opposite the door, though instead of ‘save her’ the message read ‘Here thy quest doth truly begin’.

Once they cleared the apartment, Jason sent the SWAT agents out and called for a crime scene unit.  As the ERTs took photographs, Jason stood at the door to the room. He searched for anything that would give him insight into the unsub’s mind.  Elle and Morgan searched the room, doing the same thing.   “His identification checks out,” Elle said as she handed Gideon a wallet.  “That’s Frank Giles.”

 _No shit,_ Jason thought.  They had all studied Giles’ mug shot before they left the BAU.  The man on the bed had more resemblance to it than many criminals. 

“There’s a big bag of money on the dresser,” Morgan said. 

Jason glanced his way.  Morgan had pulled a couple stacks of bills out of a bright blue duffle bag.  “So the unsub paid Giles to kill Harris in Jamaica?” Jason mused.  “And then the unsub killed Giles.”

“And left the cash?” Elle asked.

Morgan shrugged.  “He’s apparently well funded.”

“And he likes to write things in blood on walls.”  Elle walked forward to stare at the message.

“All sorts of cult and demonic significance to that,” Morgan said.

“‘Thy’?” Elle read aloud.  “‘Doth’?  ‘Quest’?  Why start phrasing things like this now?”

“Maybe this is the first thing the unsub actually wrote,” Morgan suggested.

“No.”  Jason walked into the room frowning.  “The switch from Modern English signifies something.”

“What?” Elle asked.

“No idea,” Jason admitted.  “But nothing this guy does is accidental.”

“Hey guys,” the tech examining body said.  “There’s something etched on this blade.”  She pointed at a spot a couple inches below the hilt. 

Jason knelt next to her, grimacing as he did so.  His knees were not as young as they used to be.  “‘To learn of what should next be done; leave the blade till the hour be none’,” he read.

“‘Hour be none’?” Morgan asked.

“‘Leave the blade’,” Jason repeated.  “The blade’s supposed to reveal something at a specific time?”

“Well, the bed can’t be in the exact middle of the room by chance,” Morgan observed.

“Come on, are we in the middle of an Indiana Jones movie?” Elle asked.  Jason blinked at the apparent non sequitur.  “What, do we just wait for the magic shadow to reveal hidden clues?” 

That could explain the lack of lamps.  Jason looked up at the ceiling.  No bulbs were in the overhead fixture.  “There’s no other light source.”

“Midnight is 00:00 in twenty-four hour time, would that be none?” Morgan asked. 

“No way those streetlights cast a shadow in here.”  Elle gestured at the window.

“‘Hour be none’,” Morgan said, clearly trying to think of an answer.

“3 pm.”  Jason turned to the bedroom door. Reid strolled through, his hands in his trouser pockets.  “Guys, Garcia told me where to find you.”  He frowned at the body before them while scratching his side.  “She also said that Hotch is…  Have you found any sign of him?”

“No,” Elle said flatly.  “Just the signs of a demented wannabe dungeon master.”

Reid frowned in obvious confusion at that particular pop reference.  Before he could question it, Jason asked him pointedly, “3 pm?”

“It’s medieval.  The days used to be broken into hourly intervals, the canonical hours of the breviary:  Prime, 6 am.  Terce, 9 am.  Sext, 12 noon.  None, 3 pm.  And Vespers, 6 pm.”

“Reid,” Elle said as she pointed at the young genius.  “Do not ever go away again.”

“Guys, it’s 4:35,” Morgan said.  “We can’t just leave the blade in until 3 pm tomorrow.  For all we know, Hotch and his family are under a deadline.”

“We just need to block that window out,” Reid said.  He turned to the tech.  “Do you have any spotlights in your car?”

“Sure.”  The brunette stood and walked out of the room.

“Thanks, Gina,” Elle called after her.

Fifteen minutes later, the team stood in the now dark room.  Reid knelt in front of the window, shining the light from the apparent angle of the sun.  He slowly moved it up, imitating the sun reversing course as Morgan tapped the yellow striped wall wherever the shadow fell—until Morgan hit a spot that sounded different.  “It’s hollow,” Morgan reported.  “No insulation behind the drywall, and it feels like the wallpaper’s been replaced.”

“Open it,” Jason commanded, though Morgan had all ready pulled out his pocket knife.  Morgan quickly cut through the top of the hollow section and ripped the piece of drywall out.  A small ledge had been nailed between the studs, and on the hidden shelf sat a wooden box.  Six inches wide, three inches tall, and three-and-a-half inches deep, the box’s dark stain made it look like a miniature treasure chest.  “Get it out here.”

“You sure that’s safe?” Reid asked even as Morgan lifted the box out of the nook.

“You think it’s a bomb?” Morgan asked.  “If that were his game, he’d have blown it already.”  Morgan set the box on a short end table. 

“It’s not unheard of to ‘curse’ treasures to injure the person who removes or opens them without a specific ritual,” Reid persisted.  “We know this unsub has worked us into his delusion.  He might expect us to know the correct procedures.  You sure you haven´t been scratched or punctured?"

"You sure this unsub isn´t the only one who´s seen too much Indiana Jones?" Elle asked.

"Who?" Reid asked as Jason knelt in front of the box.  Unadorned, the thing had an old keyhole on front.

"Kid, what do you do for fun?" Morgan asked as he tried to open the lid.  "It´s locked.  Should I force it?"

"Shouldn´t we process the outside for prints before you risk damaging it?" the crime tech who had fetched the spotlight asked.

"Yeah, maybe test for possible trap—"

"Reid," Morgan turned to glare at the younger agent, "he _wants_ us to—"

"Didn´t your note from the unsub include a skeleton key?" Jason asked Reid before the argument could get out of hand.

"Yes— _Oh_!"  Reid fumbled in his pocket before producing the key.  He knelt in front of the table and unlocked the box.  As he swung the lid back, the sound of Shubert´s Trout Quintet filled the room.  Jason identified the piece for the less artistically minded of the team.  A single sheet of paper lay within the music box.  Reid pulled it out and read, “‘Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight’."

"Well that was worth it."

Elle´s sarcasm grated, but she had a point.  Jason frowned as he studied the music box.  Its lid was a good inch thick.  Yet its depth…

"There."  Jason pointed.  "The lid.  Little tab right under the lock."

Morgan pulled on the tab, and a panel swung out.  Inside a long lock of blonde hair was threaded through a DVD labeled "Thy Quest".

* * *

_The wind picked up, blowing Roger’s red-dyed hair in front of her eyes.  She shivered as she brushed the hair back behind her ears._   Should have brought my gloves, _she thought as she shoved her hands into her coat pockets.  Missouri had treated its residents to a warm front the past couple days, but the climate had started to shift.  It_ was _wintertime in the Midwest, after all._

_She walked to the edge of the roof, and leaned against the parapet wall.  With the moon almost completely waned, the campus below was lit solely by lampposts.  The quad was a mass of shadow that spoke of mysterious and primal forces that made her feel more alive than daylight ever could.  As long as Roger could remember, she had loved the night, but lately…_

_Nighttime brought a sense of danger beyond any she had ever felt and a desire to defeat it.  The resulting restlessness had cut into her sleep to the point where she had to catch up in the daytime.  So far, her grades had not suffered, though she had fallen asleep in a few lectures.  And failed to wake up from a nap until_ after _an Urban Sociology exam.  Fortunately her professor had allowed her to make it up.  The man was either the most easy-going professor on the campus, or he believed in coddling college kids as if they were still in high school.  Certainly his exams were the easiest of all her classes._

_Not that she would complain when her grade-point benefited._

_With a sigh, Roger looked at her watch.  3 am.  She really should try to get some sleep before her last final in the morning.  Or study some more, even if the class_ was _Urban Soc.  There were only so many cartwheels and handstands one could do a rooftop in a single night, after all._

_The scrape of another´s footstep sounded behind her.  Roger silently groaned to herself.  She was only supposed to use her key to the building when she needed to set up the auditorium, not to go onto the roof._

_Instead of a security officer, or even another member of the university´s stage crew, Roger saw a pair of black-robed men standing behind her.  They wore brown belts and their eyes appeared to be gouged out.  She opened her mouth to ask what role they were playing when the implausibility of any dress rehearsal this time of semester (or night) hit her.  One of the pair pulled out a dagger with a distinctive curved blade, and realization struck._

_Roger had dreamt of these guys for weeks.  And they had always—_

_Without permitting herself to think, Roger reached back and laid her hand on the parapet wall with her fingers gripping the side over the roof.  She immediately jumped up and threw her legs over the wall as the robed figures rushed at her.  As gravity and momentum yanked her feet down to the ground, her hand slipped over the top of the parapet wall, until only the tips of her fingers were on top of the wall, desperately clinging to the structure.  The two robed figures stood at the wall.  One lifted the dagger up, the point aimed at her hand…_

_Roger’s left hand grabbed the top of a line of red brick that jutted out from the rest of the wall as part of the decorative design.  She released the parapet wall just as the dagger slammed down where her fingers had been.  She now hung from about the height of the roof, franticly trying to find purchase with her feet.  Unfortunately, her steel-toed work boots were larger than her climbing shoes, and transmitted little tactile info.  She thought she might have set her left foot on something, but the brick designs did not jut out enough for her to effectively hold any weight with her feet.  They barely accommodated her fingertips.  She ran her right down the wall, searching for the next outcropping of bricks.  As it passed in front of her face, she noticed that the parapet had scraped off more skin and nail than she realized.  She found a hand hold and lowered herself another three feet.  Roger quickly dropped her left hand the approximate height to grab the top of the next handhold._

_As she dropped further down, Roger shook her right hand.  The shock had worn off, and the tips were beginning to burn.  Meanwhile, her left shoulder protested the strain of supporting all her weight, while the muscles in her arm and hand started to cramp up.  She grabbed the next line of brick, and eased herself down, wincing as the pain in her fingertips ignited.  Roger quickly scrambled for the next hold, glad this part of the building was only three stories tall.  The odds of her making the climb from any higher—_

_The brick under her left hand broke off as she dropped her weight onto it.  Roger fell, scraping her left cheek against the building, and landing on her feet.  She barely remembered to bend her knees into a crouch and roll onto her side.  As she scrambled to her feet, her right ankle protested.  Two thuds sounded behind her.  She turned and saw the robed men from the roof._

_Roger turned and ran, ignoring the pain in her ankle.  As she entered the quad, she saw another robed figure in front of the columns.  She started to veer left, then reconsidered and rushed straight at the third man.  At the last minute, she ducked to the side, grabbed his arm and pulled him off-balance, seizing his dagger as he stumbled.  She kicked her steel-clad toe into his groin—a move that her ankle did_ not _appreciate any more than her opponent did—and hit the back off his head with her first.  He fell motionless to the ground.  Roger glanced back and saw the other two advancing._

_She turned and ran to the other side of the quad.  She could hear the other two behind her.  Roger tightened her grip on the dagger, despite that fact it made her entire skin feel slimy.  If they got any closer, she might have to try to use it._

_Pain filled her right shoulder as Roger stepped into the street and nearly collided with a campus security patrol…_

Haley sat upright, gasping.  Beside her, Aaron brought his seat up, and reached across the aisle to grab her shoulder.  “Another one?” he asked.

Haley nodded.  “Last night.  I think she made it.  But doesn’t know her potential—she doesn’t know the _need_ for it, Aaron.  She’ll—”  Haley swallowed hard as he squeezed her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.  Or himself.  He knew the survival odds of a Potential remaining where she was.  She turned to the back of the vehicle.  Jack slept snuggly in his carrier/car seat.  A familiar head of blond curls dozed by him.  Haley spun to face the driver’s seat, and the brown hair visible over the headrest.  “ _Faith´s_ driving?”

* * *

When they first started playing the DVD back in the BAU conference room, it displayed a few seconds of static.  Then the screen turned a dark blue.  As the color moved to the side of the screen, JJ realized that it was the clothes of the unsub, who had stood in front of the camera.  The frame focused on a brown leather office chair behind a desk with medieval figures on top: a knight on horseback, a swordsman on foot, and some sort of wagon or catapult—the screen did not show enough of the contraption for her to be sure.  The office appeared to be in a vintage house, with a fireplace partially obstructed by a lamp at the edge of the screen.  The unsub walked unevenly between the lamp and fireplace toward the chair. 

“Looks like he’s injured or something,” Morgan commented as the man sat in the chair.  His face was obstructed from view.

 _“I assure you, you will all understand in the end why it must be this way,”_ the shadowed figure spoke. _“You might even thank me.”_

“Don’t hold your breath, scumbag,” Elle commented.  Spencer frowned and rested his chin on his palm as he stared at the video, determined to catch every last detail.

_“You know now you’re on a quest.  A young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it.”_

The image on the video changed to show a teenager on a bed in what looked like a homemade cell.  When she became aware of the camera, she began throwing items from the cell at the unsub behind it.

“She’s not Haley _or_ Brooks,” JJ said as Strauss entered the room from the front door.  Spencer figured she wanted an update on the case.  Garcia had said that she had been riding Gideon for every change in detail.

“Then who the hell is she?” Elle commented. 

“Does the sister have kids?” Morgan asked.

 _“…An see, she’s quite beautiful,”_ the unsub’s raspy voice filled the silence after Elle’s question.  _“And in distress.  Now please listen closely for there is one rule, and this rule_ must _be followed.  The one rule is: Only the members of your team may participate in the quest.  Jason Gideon.”_

A still photo of Gideon walking from an SUV filled the screen.  As the video zoomed away from Gideon, Spencer could see Hotch by the driver’s side.

_“Aaron Hotchner.”_

A different photo of Hotch, his face turned toward the side.

_“Derek Morgan.”_

Morgan’s photo showed him in his bullet proof vest.

_“Elle Greenaway.  Spencer Reid.”_

Both his and Elle’s photos appeared to come from the same case, but different parts of the neighborhood.

_“Jennifer Jareau.  Penelope Garcia.”_

JJ’s photo could have been taken off any press conference news feed, but Garcia’s photo appeared to be shot when she was out running errands.  Spencer did not like the implications.

_“A quest must be completed in the proper way or it isn’t a quest, is it?  That’s it.  One rule.  Simple.”_

Spencer frowned.  The unsub’s words reminded him of the guys at Cal Tech that thought dealing with wizards and demons was a live-action Dungeons & Dragons game.  Did this guy expect the BAU to find his actions as nothing more than a fun treasure hunt? _I think Elle nailed him earlier with the DM remark…_

_“Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you’ll need to finish the quest.  You will find you will also need a book which has inspired many an adventure like mine.  Believe me when I tell you I truly hope to see you all soon.  It will mean a successful end to this adventure… for all of us.”_

 “Why go after Hotch and his family,” Elle asked, “if it wasn’t part of his plan?”

“Maybe he didn’t,” Spencer suggested, rapidly bringing all eyes to him.  “We assumed the abduction of Hotch and his family and our cryptic messages were connected because of the timing.  But what if they’re separate cases entirely?”

“Aw, man,” Morgan said.  “If it’s not this guy…  It’s going to make finding Hotch that much harder.  Between his years at the Bureau and his prosecutor days, he´s bound to have made enemies."

 _Assuming that´s even why they were targeted,_ Spencer thought, but did not say.  The whole team had worked enough cases to known the varied ways a person could become a target.  “So what do we do now?” he asked. 

“Work the case,” Gideon said flatly from where he stood at the back of the room.  Then he turned around and walked out, slamming the back door behind him.

“Agent Gideon!” Strauss called after him as she strode through the room and out the door.

Spencer stared at the other three.  They stared at him and each other.  After a few seconds, Morgan cleared his throat.  “Well, you heard him.  Let’s get the new clues up on the board and reexamine the photos of Brooks’ house.  Determine once and for all if they fit in.”

“Wait,” Elle protested.  “We’re going to play this guy’s game?”

“Do we have a choice?” Spencer retorted. 

“I’ll get video to enhance the shots of the girl,” JJ said quickly as she stood.  “The DNA on the hair could take a while,” she added as retreated from the room.

*************

“Agent Gideon!” Erin called sharply as she followed the man across the bullpen catwalk.  To her right, she could see the darkening sky through the windows.  He gave no sign of hearing her, save not slamming his office door until she followed him in.  Gideon sank into the leather chair behind his desk.

“I have nothing left.”

“Excuse me?” Erin blinked as studied the veteran profiler.  He looked exhausted.  If she remembered correctly, the man had recently come back from some sort of mental breakdown.  If he was on the verge of another collapse…  Well, that would explain the shift in leadership of the unit to Hotchner.  But if Hotchner relied on Gideon’s input as much as rumored, she would have to take a closer look at the team’s cases if _—when_ they found him.

Gideonshook his head.  “Reid nailed it.  Even _if_ that girl is somehow related to the Brooks family, that DVD was made post-abduction with the presumption that Hotch would be here.  There’s a slim chance one or all of them somehow spotted something when he intended to set up a clue, but I doubt it.”

“Two different cases.” 

 “Both of which require the full focus of the team.  This… questcrafter clearly wants to draw us into his fantasy, and playing along may be the best chance of rescuing that girl.  Hotch and his family are more lives at risk, but that investigation has lost critical time, and with a different unsub, they have a lower chance of long-term survival.  Meanwhile, the other unsub has proven willing to kill to get our attention.  I have to choose.”

“No,” Erin said, making a decision she had sworn never to do.  She folded her arms over her chest.  “ _You_ don’t.  Follow the case sent to you and find the girl on that DVD.”  She turned and opened the door.

“So it’s that easy?” Gideon asked before she could leave.  “You can give up on three civilians and one of our own just like that?”

“Your team’s the best shot at rescuing that girl.  The same can’t be said for investigating Agent Hotchner’s case.”

Erin stepped out while Gideon called, “You just sent the last available team to Georgia.” She strode purposely out of the BAU’s hub and to her own office.  Once there, she picked up the phone and grabbed a cell number out of her contacts.  As the other phone rang, she took a deep breath.

* * *

_"_ _I know I´m putting you in a tough spot, _" Faith said as she walked out from the kitchen.  The_ twenty-something brunette _had her arms crossed over her chest. "But I really needed to see you, and I won´t be long.  I know you need to report me, and I won´t argue that, ´cause I don´t want you jammed up on my—”__

_Faith broke off when Aaron Hotchner wrapped his arms around her.  "I´ve been so worried," he said, voice rough with emotion.  "Ever since—"  The black-haired man pulled back and placed his hands on her shoulders.  "Faith, Wesley called and explained about LA and why you_ _—”  He squeezed her shoulders.  "I _understand your reasoning, but your life is complicated enough without being on the run.  If things can´t be straightened out, I´ll defend you.  The only good case they´ll have is the_ escape, and—”_

_"I know," Faith stepped back and grabbed the older man´s left wrist, squeezing lightly.  She took a deep breath.  “I know,” she repeated softly.  “And I swear I’ll turn myself in if I sur—Something big’s going down.  More than typical, I mean.  The Bringers are moving—”_

_"_ _Bringers?" _Aaron interrupted.  "As in the acolytes of The First?"__

_Faith nodded solemnly.  "They’ve been showing all over the world.  I don´t know what´s going down, but I need to be able to move when it does.  I can´t risk getting held up."  Faith released Aaron´s wrist and met his eyes.  "I know it´s not what you wanted.  D_ _—”_

_Aaron again caught her in a bear hug.  "I´m proud of you," he whispered in her ear.  "Your calling hasn´t been an easy one, but you´ve risen to it.  I know you have a good heart and do good.  I-I´d be lying if I said I wanted that for you, or_ …”  _Aaron choked back a sob.  “You´ve had it rough and deserve so much.  That´s why I push to give you some good things in life._

 _"But above all, I want you to_ have _one.  If you died_ — _"  Aaron swallowed hard as a tear escaped each eye.  "Just promise me you won´t.  The First´s not something to be trifled with."_

_"I know."  Faith hugged Aaron back, careful not to squeeze too hard.  "I won´t be alone in this."_

_Aaron nodded.  "Good.  Fai_ — _"_

_A buzzing accompanied by a gasoline-like scent filled the room.  "What the hell?" Faith asked._

_"The wards are breached," Jessica said coming into the room, a taller blonde on her heels.  With the resemblance to Jess, straighter hair, and baby she hastily thrust into Aaron’s arms, she could only be Jess’ sister, Hayley._

_Aaron´s wife and Faith’s sealed sister-slayer._

_Which was weird for her to think about, given that Aaron was like—_

_Suddenly the room was filled with Bringers, and the thought that mattered was finding the best possible weapon…_

The bus drove over a pothole, shaking the seats and rousing Roger.  She blinked as the unfinished dream melted away into the gray of the seat before her and the backpack on her lap.  Roger stretched her arms above her head and twisted her neck from side to side.  Then she turned and stared at the passing buildings as the bus made its way through the town.  A quick glance at her watch told her it should be one of the Texas stops.

At least she had no more transfers to worry about. 

Though what the hell she would do once she reached Albuquerque still loomed over her.

She glanced down at the healing scrapes and cuts on her hands, without doubt that the ones on her face and shoulder looked worse.  It seemed the stuff of insanity: people she dreamed about appeared to attack her.  No wonder the campus police thought she was delusional when she made the mistake of mentioning that part.  Still, she had a knife wound in the _back_ of her shoulder.  How the hell did they not see that as corroborating her assault report?  And that “failed suicide” theory—she could spin a much better cover than eyeless monks.

Okay, so it _was_ crazy, but it still happened.

And the latest dream: not another solitary girl hunted down and killed by those freaks, but a family.  People that she instinctively felt were critical to the future of, well everything.  Just what did it mean?

“Bringers,” she softly whispered to herself.  It was as good a name to call the deformed monks as any.

The bus slowed as it pulled into the station.  While a handful of passengers departed, Roger stood and stretched her legs.  Fifteen minutes and one new passenger later, the bus pulled out of the terminal, actually on schedule.  As the bus made its way back to the highway, Roger groaned.  She never did well sitting still for extended periods of time, and Albuquerque still three hours away.  Unfortunately, it had been the only destination at the bus stop that her mother would accept without question.  Well, besides the usual “But Karen, we hardly see you anymore” guilt trips. 

Not that she did not want to see her folks and siblings.  But once her mother saw her face, she would demand an explanation.  Then she would stick her nose into the investigation and find out that Roger had split when the campus—and city—cops wanted her committed for “observation”.   Then she would raise holy hell about the shoddy investigation skills, or…

Roger swallowed as the sun slipped past the horizon and hugged her bag closer to her.  She did not think her mother would dismiss the attack so easily, but the attackers and the dreams of their other victims…  She could not stand the thought of her family, especially her authoritative mother thinking that she had gone nuts.  The thought of that look in her eyes was worse than an embarrassing pressure put on the local police.

Her hand brushed against the cell phone in her bag.  She had left a message on the home line.  With both her folks being workaholics, it was no surprise that she had not heard from either of them.  Still, when they heard Albuquerque, they would think she was visiting Lisa.  Hopefully her face would heal by her promised Christmas visit.  She just needed to figure out what she was going to do with herself for the next week…

 


	3. Chapter 3

David Rossi nodded politely as the Marine sentry returned his ID and waved him on his way to the FBI Academy.  Dave frowned as he made his way to the building with the Behavioral Sciences Unit.  Analysis Unit.  Whatever they were calling it now.  He periodically returned to the Academy to lecture, but had yet to visit the new offices. 

He had always meant to—sometime—but had never thought that it would be under these circumstances.  Dave honestly did not know which had surprised him more: the news that Aaron Hotchner and his family had gone missing, or Erin Strauss actually calling in the favor he had promised at Ron´s barbecue last month.  Erin and he had had a… somewhat abrasive relationship ever since the day his old frat buddy introduced his fiancée.  Between Ron’s shindigs and being thrown into the same office off and on as they advanced through the Bureau, a rough start gained plenty of burrs over the years.  Their typical interaction consisted of a veneer of politeness over their mutual antagonism.  Even the promised favor fit that pattern.  A voiced offer of support for her then-upcoming appointment to section chief, it was really an attempt to get a rise out of her by suggesting she would need the favor. 

Not that Erin responded, though she clearly recognized his intent.  No, she was too sensible to be baited _that_ easily. 

Dave turned into the visitor’s lot closest to the building.  At this time of night, he was able to find a spot with ease, and made his way to the front door.  He signed in at the front desk, received a visitor’s badge, and waited for Erin to escort him up to her domain.  He did not wait long; Erin stepped out of an elevator a minute after the guard called up, a case folder tucked under her left arm.  "Hello, David."

Dave nodded at her.  "Erin."

“This way,” she said briskly as she turned back to the elevators.  Once the elevator doors closed behind her, she turned to him.  “I can get the security office to issue a temporary ID in the morning.  Thank you for coming in so late.”

“Aaron’s a good man,” Dave replied.  “And a damn good profiler.”

“You know him well?” Erin asked. 

“He did his post-academy training in the old bunker,” Dave responded.  “Several agents did.  The goal was to have field agents with basic profiling skills to see if that would help in solving general cases.”

“Like the seminars we hold for agents and LEOs from around the country?”

“This was more one-on-one, and a little more in depth.  Aaron stood out, and we kept him to train fully.  He mainly shadowed Ryan or Gideon, but I took him on some consults.  He had sharp instincts and asked questions that some more experienced agents didn’t think of.”

“Impressed you from the start, did he?” Erin asked, a strange note of disgruntlement in her tone. 

Dave wondered if she had gotten a negative impression of Aaron during her brief time at the unit.  He made a note to ask more about that later.  “Actually, the first time I saw him, he dropped and broke our only coffee pot.  Between worrying that the coffee was hot enough to scald, and wondering how I could possibly have spooked him, I remember thinking that if he was the future of the Bureau, we were all screwed.”

“You were flat-out pissed off that he disrupted your caffeine intake.”

“That didn’t help,” Dave conceded.  _Or the fact that with that navy suit of his, he looked like he’d pissed himself_ , he thought.  Dave had that image in his head whenever he heard Aaron's name for months afterwards.  “Anyway, that’s why I didn’t work with him much.  He was embarrassed about the incident and avoided me, and well, not being initially impressed, I didn’t press the issue.”  The elevator opened and Erin led him straight across the hall to a pair of clear glass doors with the Bureau insignia etched on them.  They entered a large bullpen area with a raised level of offices surrounding most of it.  “Then I got stuck with him on the Redmond Ripper case.  _That_ trip started off rocky, but he turned out to be a huge help.”  _Especially with Beauchamp’s kid._ “I took him out every chance I got after that.  Then just before the end of his stint, Ryan sent him to Boston alone as a test.  The plan was for one of us to follow up with our own assessment if Aaron’s efforts hadn’t uncovered the unsub before our caseload cleared or critique his profile if the guy was caught.” 

“How’d that work out?” Erin asked as she climbed the stairs to the mezzanine-level offices. 

“It didn’t.”  Dave followed her up the stairs.  “The lead detective abruptly shut down the investigation before Aaron could complete the profile.  He insisted on keeping Aaron in town for _six weeks_ , in case the killings resumed, but blocked Aaron’s access to the evidence needed to build a profile.  Frustrated the hell out of Aaron; he said that if he’d wanted to be paid to stick around a hotel, he’d have put in for vacation and taken Haley.”  Dave frowned as he turned onto the catwalk.  “Actually, it bothered all of us how soon after the last deaths the investigation ended, but as all the crimes happened in Boston, we couldn’t keep the case open without the locals’ cooperation.”

Erin stopped at an office and produced a thick key ring.  Dave absently noted Aaron's name on the nameplate.  Erin unlocked the door and flipped the light on.  Dave automatically studied the office as he followed her in.  The far wall, the one with windows, was unpainted, revealing the dismal gray of the cement used in construction.  The other walls were painted a warm yellow, and most of furniture was dark stained wood.  Framed diplomas and certifications hung on the walls, along with a couple of neutral and not-too-expensive pieces of art.  A lamp, coffee maker and a basket full of a various coffees sat on a narrow table directly to the right of the door.  Behind Aaron’s desk, the right wall had bookshelves filled with legal texts and Bureau publications flanking a larger shelf filled mostly with awards and keepsakes.  Across from his desk, a black sofa sat against the wall, flanked by small end tables with matching lamps.  A black upholstered chair with a wooden frame sat against the window wall next to the far end table and a coffee table sat in front of the sofa and chair.  A hall tree next to the chair held a forgotten raincoat, and a red Bicycle hung vertically on a rack.  Two black office chairs with lower back support sat in front of Aaron’s sturdy desk.  Behind the desk, Aaron’s black leather chair had a tall back, including thick cushioning and a headrest.

It was the kind of office Dave expected of Aaron, though Dave had trouble picturing the man biking around Quantico.  And the furniture was nicer than anything the Bureau had provided for the old bunker.  He idly wondered what kind of budget the BAU had these days. 

“So, what’s the situation, and why don’t you have the personnel to investigate it?”  He turned to Erin, who had all ready sat in the chair against the wall, and set the file she had been holding onto the coffee table.  Dave walked over and sat on the sofa. 

“We made the mistake of assuming the disappearances were linked to the unsub taunting Hotchner’s team, so I sent the remaining teams off to other locations.  Several months ago, Agent Hotchner arranged for most of his team to have the 18th through the 29th off.  Sometime over the weekend, somebody breached the Bureau’s firewall and hacked into the team’s emergency contact info for the duration of the vacation. Late last night—well, Monday night into yesterday,” Erin amended with a glance at her watch, “a cryptic package was sent to Agent Reid in Las Vegas.  An anonymous call alerted the Jamaican resort Agents Morgan and Greenaway were staying at to a murder of one of their guests, and the manager found a fresh, deliberate blood smear along the walls to Greenaway’s room.  The victim had been dead over a day, and his head, packed in dry ice, was delivered to Jason Gideon at his cabin…”

Dave listened carefully as Erin described the events of the past twenty-four hours.  The guy taunting the primary BAU team was appalling and fascinating.  Never in all the cases Dave worked on, had the bad guy worked him into his delusion.  And for this guy to fixate on an entire team…  “Damn,” he said softly when Erin was finished. In his hands were photos of the wrecked Brooks’ house from the casefile Erin had provided him.  “That is one messed-up guy your people are dealing with.”  Dave shook his head.  “I hate to say it, but the odds of finding Aaron and his family alive aren’t good.  I’ll assume they are, absent proof of the contrary, but it’s been nearly twenty-four hours.”

“Past, if the stopped clock’s any indication.”  Erin stared at her hands.  “If they are dead, I almost hope it occurred early on.  That way my mistake won’t have cost them.”

“I might have assumed it was one case too," Dave told her.  Erin had perfected her icy all-business persona long ago, and he found it easy to forget that she actually cared.

Sometimes. 

"The timing's highly coincidental and Gideon didn’t see anything that made him think of a different unsub."

Erin nodded.  "I know.  It was still my call."  She stood and folded her arms across her chest as she looked out a window.  After a minute she turned back, her normal demeanor restored.  “We'll find them, David.  I'm not sure how much use a profile will be in this case, but sooner is better.  Do what you can tonight, and I´ll make sure Accounting signs off on your contract in the morning.  I can't guarantee your usual fees—"

"Don't worry, I'm just doing a couple friends a favor."  Dave said absently as he read through the crime scene report.  "Under the circumstances, I´d do it for free.”  He flipped through to next page.  _Wait, did I just call Erin a friend?  Damn.  If she caught it, she’s not going to let that go…_

Erin snorted.  "You know that's not possible.  Also, I understand your request to go through Agent Hotchner´s life.  I know the importance of determining where vic—where their paths crossed, but I can't let you look through his casefiles.  Your consulting’s a conflict that the Bureau won't accept."

"I haven't done that much consulting on BAU-related cases lately.  Apparently I've told too many defense attorneys that a guy's not completely fitting a profile isn't a sufficient defense in light of the other evidence."  And that time he ascribed the discrepancies to an incorrect profile did not go over well with anyone.

"That won't make a difference," Erin replied.  "It wouldn’t even if Agent Hotchner were the most likely target, instead of the sister-in-law."

“They could have set a trap for him at her place,” Dave pointed out.  “Besides, the rage suggested by the vandalism's hard to hide.  Aaron or one of the sisters might have noticed something.  We need to know if Aaron looked into it."

"You mean misused Bureau resources." 

Dave raised an eyebrow.  "If you met someone potentially dangerous, wouldn't you at least check for open warrants?  _Especially_ if they were around your family."

Erin sighed and then turned to Aaron's filing cabinet.  "Well, I can at least tell you if he's got anything here not related to his cases." 

* * *

JJ sighed as she collapsed into the chair behind her desk.  She needed to get some sleep, but did not want to stop working the case. 

Unfortunately, exhaustion seemed to be blocking JJ´s thoughts.

JJ absently rubbed her head before she sat upright and turned her attention to the casefiles on her desk.  She really should go through them and route anything urgent on.  Besides, maybe the routine task would unfreeze her brain on the case at hand…

Her gaze fell on a box with a FedEx label.  She was not expecting any deliveries.  With a frown she quickly grabbed the package and a pocket knife.  JJ pulled out a mounted and framed butterfly with a label tape on the glass reading ‘She has been searched for, yet never found’.  She was out of the office and at the conference room with more speed than she thought she had the energy for.  "We need a warrant for Hotch´s house and mail," she announced as she opened the door. 

Morgan and Gideon sat at the round table while Spence stood at the dry erase board and Elle looked up sleepily from the couch against the wall.  JJ handed the frame to Gideon.  "That's a pale clouded yellow butterfly.  They're indigenous to Europe.  Britain mainly."  Gideon absently nodded as he handed the frame to Morgan.

Reid leaned over Morgan's shoulder and read the inscription out loud.  "Don't crowd people kid," Morgan complained as he pushed his chair to the side and handed the frame to Elle.

"That's been sitting in a box in my office.  If we consider the crime scene in Jamaica as meant for both Elle and Morgan, that's contact with all of us, at the location in our files."

"And he's given no indication that he realizes Hotch isn't playing his intended role," Spence finished for JJ.  "Good catch."

“Also, I used to collect butterflies as a child.”

As Elle returned the butterfly to him, Morgan cursed softly.  “How does he know these things about us?”  He set the butterfly on the table in front of him.  “I doubt they're sitting around our personnel files.”

Spence frowned.  “What things?”

“The unsub sent me the Nellie Fox card,” Gideon said.  "And I—"

"Was a fan," Spence continued.  "This unsub´s very thorough."  He tapped the end of the dry erase marker against his thumb as he frowned at the wall.  "‘Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight’," he said.

"Kid?" Morgan asked. 

"It seems familiar," Spence answered.  "My mother read a lot of classic poetry to me.  We should run this through a search engine."

"It's Chaucer," their section chief's crisp voice came from behind JJ at the same time Elle said, "I thought you—"

JJ turned to the door.   Behind Strauss stood a stocky, bearded man with dark, graying hair.  He looked familiar, though JJ could not place him. 

  “Ma’am,” JJ said politely, though displeased to see the woman.  Gideon had made it clear that Strauss had ordered him to suspend the search for Hotch—right before instructing them to squeeze in as much investigation as they could under the guise of "absolutely ruling out a connection".  He had made it clear that Hotch was counting on them. 

  Spence seemed unconcerned by Strauss´ appearance, "Chaucer…" he echoed, frown deepening. 

"Parl—"

"´The Parliament of Fowls!´" Spence cried out.  "Of course!  It was one of Mom's favorites.  I must of heard it a hundred times."  He uncapped the marker in his hand and turned back to the board and hastily scribbled.  "Thanks!" he called to Strauss as she entered the room.   With his concentration on the board, Spence did not see Strauss’ displeasure at being interrupted. 

Fortunately for Spence, her ire was soon drawn by the man following her.  "Since when do _you_ know Chaucer?"

"Rossi?" Gideon asked incredulously as Strauss turned to glare at him.  JJ's eyes widened as she recognized the former profiler from the book lecture she attended as an undergrad.  "What are you doing here?"

"He owed me a favor," Strauss said.  “He’s here to help track down Agent Hotchner.”

"He’s been retired for years," Gideon said harshly. 

"I’ve done private consultations.  I’m not out of practice.”  Rossi folded his arms over his chest as Gideon glowered at him.  “Look, from the sound of it, you need all the help you can get.”

Gideon huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at Strauss.  “Can you even get the Bureau to go for it?  They may like the image his books cast of us, but coming back for new material won’t go over so well.”

“I’m here because a friend and his family are in trouble.”

“Friend?” Gideon scoffed.

“Yes, Ja—”

“His consulting contract will specify that he won’t write about either of these cases, and that his access to other casefiles will be denied,” Strauss cut in firmly.  “That should satisfy those upstairs enough to let this one slide.  In the meantime, catch him up with what you know.”  She turned and strolled out of the room.

* * *

_The SUV pulled out of the lot as soon as the brunette woman jumped into it.  She shut the door as the blond woman behind the wheel took a left.  The vehicle slowed as they approached the red light, but the driver looked both ways and then gunned through the deserted intersection.  "Haley!" the black-haired man who had helped Roger into the SUV protested over the wailing kid._

_"The Bringers were chasing after us!" the driver retorted.  "I'm not going to risk them disabling the car when the road's deserted!  Now buckle Jack into his seat!"_

_Roger reluctantly grabbed the seatbelt over her left shoulder and buckled herself in as the SUV sped down the ramp to the highway.  She had no desire to be thrown to her death if the woman crashed.  But while grateful for the escape from the robed figures, the wisdom of hopping into a vehicle full of strangers was catching up to her._

_Even if she had dreamed about them just hours ago._

_“It’s easier to secure his carrier when the car’s not lurching wildly!” the man snapped.  Roger turned to look behind her.  The curly-haired blonde strapped the baby into the carrier in the middle of the SUV´s backseat as the man belted the carrier itself in place.  Then he strapped himself into the back seat next to the boy._

_Haley merged into the highway traffic.  "I_ — _"_

_"Anyone hurt?" the other blonde asked._

_"Our guest is," the brunette woman said.  "She was limping as we ran to the SUV."_

_"Switch with me."  The brunette hopped out of her seat and around the blonde to take the seat behind Roger.  She turned to her right to help the man calm Jack._

_The blonde knelt beside Roger´s seat.  "Where are you injured?" she asked._

_"It's just a sprain," Roger said, pulling her right foot away from the aisle.  "I landed hard the last time those freaks attacked me."_

_“Did you get it x-rayed?”  Roger gritted her teeth.  She did not feel that it was any of that woman’s business.  "I have medical training," the blonde persisted._

_"So did the guys in the hospital."  Roger crossed her arms over her chest.  The woman backed off to take the seat Faith had abandoned.  "What are Bringers?" Roger demanded.  "Why have I been dreaming about them?  And you?  Who are you guys?" Roger stared into the brunette woman’s brown eyes._

_"I’m Faith," she replied easily. “Jack.  Aaron,” Faith pointed at the baby, then the man in turn.  “Jessica, and Haley’s driving.  I’m assuming you don’t want us to call you Dorito.”_

_Roger scowled at the obvious reference to the rack of chips she had collided with, and then shoved onto one of the Bringers.  “They were Fritos.”_

_“Smacking a guy with Doritos sounds cooler.”_

_Roger felt her lips twitching into a smile despite herself.  “Roger,” she said as Jack settled down.  Aaron looked up from Jack and frowned at Roger._

_Faith blinked, but just said, "Nice to meet you, Rog.  Do you happen to believe in vampires?"_

_Roger´s jaw almost dropped.  "You're not seriously suggesting that those were vampires at the gas station?"_

_"Nah," Faith drawled.  "Bringers are demons, though they do tend to move at night.  However, they want to kill you because you have the potential to become the Vampire Slayer…"_

As coughs wracked her frame, Rebecca awoke.  She kept her eyes stubbornly shut.  Wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, Rebecca knew the sunlight pouring through the small window and her illness would prevent that.  Never one for remembering her dreams, the last several weeks had her waking with vivid recollections of demonic monks attacking—and usually killing—various young women.  Now, just as her subconscious started to add an explanation of sorts, she had been pulled from the grim dreams to face grimmer reality.

* * *

“I’m perfectly capable of driving.”

Dave turned away from the window to the agent Jason had foisted on him that morning.  It had surprised Dave when Dr. Reid turned out a full-fledged BAU member rather than some post-academy trainee.  Reid looked the minimum age to apply to the FBI.

Barely. 

And at six-foot-one, with little meat on his bones and mousy blond hair that pushed the limits of regulation length, he looked like a grad student wearing a Halloween costume to boot. 

“I never said you couldn’t.”

“Trained to read behavior, remember?”

Okay, so Dave had been a little tense, and had tried to tell him how to turn out of Quantico.  But it was not like Jason and the rest of his cadre had inspired confidence in the kid’s driving skills.  Hell, Morgan and Greenaway had looked about ready to burst out laughing when Jason had announced that as a retiree Dave could not drive the Bureau SUV.

“I don’t like being told I can’t drive myself around.”  And maybe he was irritable from the little sleep between last night’s briefing and this morning's interviews with the team.  One thing about retirement, you got to bed at a reasonable hour.

“Hmfh.”  Reid did not look convinced.  He passed a slow-moving semi.  “So got any more books coming out?"

 Morgan's quip about the kid having memorized all of Dave’s books flashed through his mind.  Dave preferred dealing with fans at his book signings—he could be polite, charming, and get the hell away from them after a couple hours.  "There's always something in the works," Dave said vaguely.

"Do ever miss it?" the kid asked, no evidence of noting Dave's gruffness.  "Working at the Bureau?  I know you've done well, but… you did a lot of good in your career."

"Thinking about moving on all ready?"  Dave knew his tone was harsh, but he had received plenty of criticism in the past.

"No, I—"

"My life's not as vacant as it may seem."

The kid winced.  Whether at the words or the steel in Dave's voice, Dave did not know.  Or care.  "That's not what I meant," Reid protested.

Dave snorted.  _Of course you didn't kid._

"It's just…"  Reid sighed as he moved to into the left lane.  "While I was researching my last doctorate, I had occasion to help the world in a very different way.  I'm more suited to the BAU and—"

" _Last_ doctorate?  How many do you have?"

"Three."

"How the hell old are you?"  Dave had assumed that Reid looked younger than he was, but to have three Ph.D.s, he had to be one of those super-young looking folks that got carded until fifty.

"Twenty-four."

Or the exact age he appeared.

"Ah.  Child genius?"

"Something like that."

"What made you join the Bureau?  And when did they change the age limits?"

"This is something I've been drawn to for a while.  The Bureau made an exception on the minimum age because of my intelligence…  And the amount of field experience required for admission to the BAU."

Rossi nodded at that.  If he had had the chance to recruit a genius, he would have done his best to place him where he could do the most good quickly.  And while Dave's first thought would be to further advance the crime lab, obviously Reid was not inclined to a profession in the hard sciences.

"So, how long have you been with the Bureau?"

"A little over three years.  I've been with the BAU fourteen months."

Dave had not kept close tabs on his former colleagues, but he did get periodic updates.  And he paid attention to the national news.  "Shortly after that Bale mess in Boston."

Reid nodded.  "I´d been promised an eventual transfer into the unit and had studied for it, but I’d expected put in the minimum three years first."

"It happens."  Dave could not think of anything else to say.  Though from his own experience, little would help.

"Life's funny like that."  The kid’s tone suggested that he was thinking of more than his BAU recruitment.  Interesting.  Unfortunately for Dave’s curiosity, it also suggested Reid had no intention of explaining that.

Dave frowned out the window.  "How's Jason doing?" he asked.  "I heard Boston was rough on him." 

"So´d the entire country."

Dave laughed darkly.  "Damn press can be vultures."

"Funny thing from a guy whose current career was built by the press."

"Necessary evil," Dave growled.  Reid kept his focus on the highway, but Dave could see his skepticism.  "I admit most of the reporters I've met are decent people, but when the public gets a taste for some stories… the coverage can turn into a storm of locusts."

Reid laughed.  "As in the biblical plague?  That's a new one.  I´ll have to remember it—Son of a Bitch!"  Reid slowed and pulled behind the sedan he had been passing.  He then quickly merged onto the approaching exit ramp. 

"This isn't the right exit!"

"I know.  I need to call in."  Reid parked on the right shoulder of the exit ramp, switched on the hazard blinkers and threw off his seatbelt.   

" _Now_?"  Dave felt more than a little incredulous. 

"Now."  Reid climbed onto the seat and leaned over to grab his soft briefcase from the backseat. He threw open the tan leather flap, pulled out his cell and dialed in.  "Garcia, can you check to see who has moved to the area from Nevada?"  A pickup sped past them, causing the SUV to shake.   "I know privacy policies may be a problem, but the person you're looking for would most likely have been a patient at Bennington Sanitarium in Las Vegas within the last two years.  Possibly earlier, if he writes or visits someone there.  Also, can you have a couple agents from the Vegas field office take my mother into protective custody?  Have her brought to the BAU if possible…  She's at Bennington." Reid took a deep breath and steeled his posture.  "No, she's a patient.  I…  Gideon!  What ar…?  I think the unsub knows my mother.  I realized that I have mentioned the random facts this unsub´s hit on in the letters I've sent her…  Gideon, _you've_ mentioned Nellie Fox and the damn White Sox in every lecture you've ever done on your interrogation of Rick Monroe and how you won his trust!  Forgive me for thinking it was safe to mention."  For a literal-seeming guy, the kid could do sarcastic well.  "Ma'am, I wouldn't write her case details, even if she were sane…  I just make casual references to the friends I work with and places we recently ‘visited’.  Less than anyone could get off the national news, except for minor hobbies and interests…  Yes, I understand that.  But ma’am, her most common break-through symptom is the belief that the government induced her schizophrenia, even when she's convinced herself real events are fantasies.  She knows I work for the government, but is more willing to see me as separate from it than any other agent…  Possibly, but Gideon, I’ve never sent photos, so she might not believe you’re who you say you are."

A small, blue Geo Metro raced by them, too fast even for having just left the highway.  It started slowing painfully close to the intersection, its breaks squealing in protest.  Dave shook his head, wondering what the guy behind the wheel was thinking.   Personally, Dave would never drive something so small compared to everything else on the road, even if it had a better frame than glorified Styrofoam.  And if he _had_ to, Dave certainly would not drive it recklessly.

“I’m not sure, ma’am, but she used to be a professor of fifteenth century literature, and enjoys giving lectures to her fellow patients.  She’s very popular, actually…  I hope not, but maybe?  Her fondness for Arthurian lore has caused issues in the past, in that she further confused another patient.   I can't remember who, though…   Eidetic.  And it's just for things I read, Garcia; this was a phone conversation with her doctor…  Thank you, ma’am.  I appreciate that this is an unusual and difficult situation…  Yes, ma’am.  Here,” Reid handed the phone to Dave.   

He put the phone to his ear.  As Dave heard Erin’s stern voice telling the eccentric researcher to shut up and take the phone off of speaker, Reid buckled himself back in and pulled off the shoulder.

* * *

 “Thank you, David,” Erin bit out before hanging up the phone.  Calling in that favor had turned out every bit as annoying as she had feared.  And she had no one to blame but herself.   She turned back to the technical analyst.  The woman had calmed down since Erin had sent Gideon to arrange the safe transport of Diana Reid, but tears still leaked out of her eyes.  "This personal laptop," Erin folded her arms over her chest.  "I appreciate that its use was on your lunch hour, but if this game was indeed the gateway for the hacker to get into our system…"

"I know what it means, ma'am."  Garcia hugged herself.  "I don't need you or Gideon telling me."

"Is that what he was doing?  Telling you?"  In her opinion, verbally flaying the young technician fit the scene Erin had walked in on better.

"I was careless.  I didn't think it would do any harm, but people have died.  Could have been our own.  I thought it _was_ Hotch and—"  Garcia cut herself off, obviously realizing what she had let slip.

"You've known what caused the breach for a while."

The woman flinched as if slapped.  Erin frowned at that.  She had to be tough to make it in the male-dominated Bureau, but nothing about her current manner should have provoked such a response.  Just how often did Gideon go off on tirades? 

"I suspected," Garcia admitted quietly.  "I wasn't trying to hide it or anything.  I was just focused on sealing the breach and finding the hacker before he did any more damage."  Garcia choked back a sob.  "Nobody asked until Gideon…"

"I see.  And you're sure he's accessed nothing else, and can't get back in?"

The younger blonde nodded.  "Computer Security's reviewing everything, but I'm confident in the fix."  Garcia swallowed hard and looked at the floor.  "You know, before he left, Hotch—Agent Hotchner—said something about admiring my desire to see the good in people, but that I also need to think about possible ulterior motives.  I should have listened."

_Damn right, you should have,_ Erin thought.  "Well, your actions will have to undergo a review.  In the meantime the priority is catching this guy.  You're certain this Randall Garner´s not another false lead?"

"Yes, ma'am."  Garcia looked back up.  "That's the trail I followed from the Sir Kneighf account, not the trail left with the visible attack.  Though a guy this careful…"

"May be long gone and using a false name," Erin finished.  “CSU may still find something useful.  Dig up everything you can about Garner, if he exists.” 

"Yes, ma'am."

When Erin opened the office door to leave, a siren sounded from Garcia’s computer speakers.  She turned to find the technical analyst rapidly typing on her keyboard.  “What is it?" Erin demanded.  "Another hack?”

“No, ma’am.  I flagged anything related to the team incase Garner-or-whoever-this-skeezeball-is tried, but this came from the Integrated AFIS system.”  The technician pulled up another screen.  “Looks like Albuquerque PD ran a few partial prints through the system that matched Hotch.”

“Albuquerque?” Erin asked sharply.  “New Mexico?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Garcia replied calmly over her furious typing.  “There were other prints ran with the same case number attached—Huh, that’s weird.”

“What is?” Erin asked sharply as Garcia fell silent and again typed furiously.

“There was a hit on a Faith Lehane, but it looks like the hit buried itself.  No, an alert was sent somewhere, just not to Albuquerque…  Someone's gone to considerable trouble to bury Lehane in our system.  It looks like there's a criminal record and a fugitive file, but there's nothing in them.  Not even a photo, and the data was wiped over thoroughly.  Looking at what remains… an Agent Ian Edgerton was initially on the case and has tried to access her file since it was emptied."

"Get me his cell number," Erin ordered.  "I want to talk with him.  And contact Albuquerque, I want to know everything about their case."

She left the computer room and walked swiftly to her office.  Once the door was safely closed, she collapsed into her seat and buried her head in her hands.  This mess with Hotchner and his unit's top team qualified as the worst first month ever, and things just kept getting crazier.  At this rate, she might not even have time for the family Christmas.

Not that that anyone other than Ron was eager to have one.  Sarah and Michael felt homesick for the Midwest, and were still adjusting to their new school.  Karen still smarted over the upcoming loss of her in-state tuition, and apparently preferred to hang out with friends over a place where she only knew her family.

* * *

“‘…Clearly now, the rain is gone; I can see all po-obstacles in my way…’."

Beside Roger, Lorne—the green-skinned, honest-to-God _demon_ —winced.  "That's an embarrassing mistake to almost make," he commented, taking another sip of his sea breeze.  “Even if Jess did set it by intentionally by mentioning that sitcom and popsicles.”

Roger glanced up at the left side of the nightclub's stage.  Aaron sat on the piano bench, singing _a capella_ even though he had played the songs Faith and the blonde sisters sang.  Jessica still sat on the stool in the middle of the stage, but now she leaned forward as her shoulders shook in a manner that screamed laughter.

Faith and Haley were with Jack at one of the front tables, watching Aaron's performance. 

Roger turned back to study Lorne again: straw-colored hair, rough green skin with bright red lips, eye sockets and inch-long horns in his forehead.  She wanted to believe it was an elaborate make-up job, but she had spent enough time working backstage to know what theatrical make-up looked like up close.  She saw no sign of that on Lorne.  Roger quickly turned her attention to the slip of paper in front of her when she realized that she was staring.  Again.

Lorne´s light chuckle filled her ears.  "It's okay, Hydrangea.  You're not my first human to be new to the supernatural.  Those layers of reality keep themselves well-hidden in this dimension."

"It's still rude," Roger mumbled.  “I’m sorry.”  She brought her head up to meet Lorne´s face.  "You can really tell people's fortunes, by watching them sing?"  The whole thing was surreal, and after the past twenty-four hours, she would believe almost anything possible.  Still, Roger did not like the thought of her whole future becoming open viewing so easily.

“It’s not so simple.”  Lorne fished a few spiced peanuts from the dish in front of him and turned back to the stage.  “Predicting the future is like watching the world from a helicopter.  Let’s say you say see an intersection with a stop sign knocked over, and on crossroads a semi and speeding car are set to hit the intersection at the same time.”  Lorne quickly swallowed a few peanuts.  “Now, the obvious prediction is that these vehicles will crash.  But maybe the car travels its road all the time, and breaks to a stop out of habit.  Maybe the semi turns off the road before the intersection.  Now, most people’s lives are more complex than a two-way stop.  What I get is an impression of what’s in front of them and advise on their best path.  They don’t always take it, and there are limits to what can be seen.”

“From singing?”

Lorne shrugged.  “When people express themselves musically, it puts them in a mental state that’s easier for me to read."

"But just how good is it?  If there are limits, and complex possibilities?"

"It depends on the reading.  Bravo!” he called up at the stage as Aaron finished.  “Can I get a little ‘Footloose’ for an encore?”

Aaron scowled.  “I’ve played through everyone else’s songs.  That’s plenty of time to have read me.”

“But I haven’t heard your gorgeous voice since high school, _Quatro_.  Consider it a favor.”

“Come on, Aaron,” Haley said as she hopped up onto the stage.  “It’ll be fun, and you haven’t really cut loose in a while.”

Lorne groaned at the joke as the older Slayer pulled her husband to his feet.

“No!  I can’t sing and dance at the same time, remember?”

Haley smiled.  “So you agree to sing?”

Aaron closed his eyes.  "Haley..."

Lorne turned back to Roger.  "Thing is, the brain is fundamentally lazy.  It likes to associate new experiences with preexisting memory trees rather than expend the energy to create new ones.  It makes sense, conserve energy that might be needed for fight or flight.  However, it also leads to habits and prejudices that are hard to break, even when you want to.  Now, the world tends to follow the same pattern.  The bulk of people tend to repress any evidence of the supernatural.  An automatic reflex as they know everyone around them will not believe them, so they don't believe it either.  And when they can't repress it—say when they're being hunted by supernatural beings or have awakened their own power—then they're drawn instinctively to those that are ‘in the know’ and supernatural hotspots.  Saves time by providing them teachers, or well, plopping them at the feet of their killer.  It also makes for rather interesting coincidences.”

“So that’s how we crossed paths.”  Now that Roger thought about it, it was unlikely.

“In part.  Once targeted, odds were good that you would cross paths with other targets or more Bringers.  Crossing paths with _that_ group…  Still possible, but something directed you to them."

Roger´s eyes narrowed.  "I haven't sung for you yet."

"You hum when you read."  Lorne gestured at the document in front of her.  "To whatever music you hear at the time.  It's not as thorough a read as singing, but it’s enough.  Don't worry," Lorne added.  "I'm serious about the confidentiality unless the world's at stake deal.  I'm not going to blab anything, even if you don't sign my pact."

Roger frowned and glanced at the stage where Aaron stumbled over the words as Haley led him through a reluctant dance.  "And you saw that we have a shared destiny?"

"There are powers beyond this world that have an interest in it.  They cannot act directly, but they do choose Champions to act on their behalf.  The ones they choose don’t have to accept their calling.  Even if they do… well, the Champions don’t always listen to instructions or properly interpret things.  When that lot decided to drive to LA, something put Albuquerque in your mind.  A message you picked up at the subconscious level.  You could have ignored it, but it appealed to both your survival and go-find-supernatural instincts.  Now you have another choice: to try to make it on your own, or join the others in Sunnydale.  Alone, you may pass unnoticed, but there will be no one to help you out if you’re attacked again.  In Sunnydale, you will be under the protection of experienced warriors while you train to defend yourself.  However, Sunnydale is also where things will come to a head.”  Lorne stood up and picked up his sea breeze.  “Now I have a message to relay, and a little guy to get to know.”

* * *

The smiles melted off of Aaron and the sisters´ faces and they stopped their impromptu dance.  Faith looked up looked up to see Lorne approach the table with a grim look on his face.  She sat up straighter and earned a disgruntled cry from Jack as he realized he had lost her attention.  Aaron picked the boy up as the rest of the family gathered around the table. 

"It's big," Lorne said.  "Something's changed that has allowed The First Evil to strike directly at the Slayer line.  The First means to end the Slayer, and this world as we know it."

"We got that much from when we called Red," Faith pointed out.

"There's more."  Lorne turned to Haley.  "Your seal didn't just give out at an opportune time.  The Powers broke it—And now they want the deal Aaron bartered fulfilled."

Aaron paled and shook his head.  "There was no deal."

"As far as they're concerned, there is."

"But it's been seventeen years," Haley said.  "Why now?"

"When you live outside reality, time's not always a pressing concern.  Though as long as Aaron didn't meet his end, they were fine leaving it undone."

"Do you know what they demanded?" Aaron asked. 

Lorne nodded grimly.  "The Powers are more concerned with not violating the balance than anything.  Asking them to intervene annoyed them, but they believed their price would balance things out.  Now… something's changed.  The First's plans could wipe out everything, and this may be the key to a Hail Mary."

Jessica shook her head.  "How?  The goal is to _save_ the world, not make matters worse."

"What I can open, I can close," Aaron said as he stared down at his hands.  " _If_ I've opened it.  But there's a refractory period.  Things would get out.  Lives would be lost."

"The message sent to Cordy suggests that will happen anyway.  Your readings confirm it."  Lorne drained the remains of the sea breeze in his hand and set the glass on the table.  "Things in Sunnydale have not come to a head yet.  You'll find what you need to make your final decision there."

Aaron and Haley exchanged looks that spoke of a silent conversation while Jessica looked equally grim.  Faith knew the basics: Haley's father/Watcher was fine with neutral demons and partbloods helping out in the defense of the Hellmouth.  Until she and Aaron eloped.  Then he took advantage of the traditional coming-of-age introspection test the Slayer's handbook hinted at and sealed Haley's powers _permanently_ , leaving her vulnerable to vengeful demons.  Aaron had tried to barter with the Powers that Be, on the grounds that her seal deprived them of a trained agent in the fight against evil.  The Powers, unimpressed since a new Slayer would be called at death, demanded a high price in exchange.  Aaron backed out, even as a demon mob attacked Haley.  She barely survived, but never disagreed with Aaron's choice. 

"What about Jack?"  Haley demanded.

"While you were still sealed, you felt like a potential.  Given your age, they probably assumed this precious one was a girl.  I doubt they'll target him once you continue on."  Lorne took Jack from Aaron's arms.  "In any case, my wards´ll prevent Bringer violence.  I´ll keep him safe and snug in my rooms."

Haley locked eyes with him.  "We'll hold you to that."

_If we survive,_ Faith could not help but think. 

* * *

He had nothing left.  

Jason Gideon stared at the wall in his office, an open report in front of him.  The light through the windows had dimmed to the point that he should turn the light on, but Jason did not bother.  He could still read, if he had the will to.

That cabin had been his sanctuary; his piece of the world that the depravities of his work could not touch.  Jason would go there to recharge his spirit.  Now it would forever be stained by the memory of a romantic evening ruined by a head in a box.  Still reeling from that blow, Jason had returned to the office to find that he had again failed to protect his own. 

Jason glanced down at the photo on his desk.  Printed off of the Bureau intranet, Hotch´s ID photo showed a rare smile.  It made the normally stoic man look younger and more approachable.  Jason considered himself truly blessed to have gotten to know the man beneath the stern mask.  He considered the surprisingly warm man a friend as well as a capable agent to watch his back in the field. 

And Jason trusted the younger man to watch over his legacy.

Since Boston and Bale, Gideon found the BAU´s work more draining than it used to be.  He knew that the day would come when he would not be able to continue.  That was why he had quietly ceded leadership of the team and unit back to Hotch after he had proven himself able to return. 

Now, Jason felt the day that he could no longer contribute loom closer.  He still had something to give and intended to give everything he could.  But if they were unable to save Hotch—and they all knew the statistics there—then Jason would have less to give, would be unable to meet the higher demands of leading the BAU.  Jason doubted he could meet the demands of running the team.  He respected the other team leaders.  Any one of them could run the unit, but Jason felt Hotch was a far better choice.  Stern enough to keep the unit on track and within the rules, he was also protective enough to battle bureaucracy if necessary.

If Jason had to select Hotch’s successor—the man was irreplaceable—it would sting far less if Jason had the solace of having done everything he could to save Hotch and his family.  Strauss had effectively taken that from him, even as her orders saved him the guilt of choosing a friend over the girl.  Or the girl over a friend.  Jason had been surprised at Strauss’ decision to bring in Rossi.  But if the man had not lost his touch, he could provide some impartial observations that the team, and even Anderson and Fukudome could not. 

Still, knowing Hotch could also provide insight, but Jason's efforts to keep updated on the investigation had been stymied.  Even sending Reid as the one to search for the "quest clue" and case-related materials had not panned out as Jason had hoped.  Aside from the delay in getting the warrant for Hotch’s house and Rossi cleared to consult, Rossi had somehow managed to break his nose against the door they jimmied.  Neither his nor Reid’s explanation of how that happened made sense.  Jason figured that Rossi did not know exactly how it had happened, but Reid… Jason had felt Reid holding something back, though he could not imagine Reid having anything to do with the injury.   Rossi could be aggravating at times, but he was a decent man.  And if Reid had a volatile temper, Morgan would have sported a busted nose months ago.

With the time it took to sweep the Hotchners’ home and finally drive Rossi to the ER before the return trip to Quantico, Reid did return to the BAU until just before his mother had arrived.  And the kid had blown off Jason’s attempts to get the status of Rossi’s investigation in favor of making some phone call.  Reid had seemed unusually distracted, so it must have been important, but Jason could not get anything out of Rossi.

Jason sighed and wondered how Reid’s interview with his mother was going.  Hopefully, he would get something out of her.  The book code Reid found stuck in the Hotchners’ front door was useless unless they could figure out the book and edition that the code originated from.  A shadow fell across the door, and Jason looked up to see JJ standing there with a file.  “We’ve identified the girl in the video.  Rebecca Bryant.  She went missing two years ago from South Boston, Virginia.”

JJ handed the file folder to Jason.  He took it and slipped on his reading glasses.  He turned his back to the door as he read through the file.  After a minute, he heard JJ walk away.  When he finished, he left the folder on the desk, taking Rebecca’s picture with him.  Finally, they could do more than play this unsub’s game.  With a known victim, they could research her history, and hopefully get ahead of this guy.  He would have Elle and Morgan drive out to interview the family.  This time of night it would be late by the time they got there, but not too late, especially if he had JJ call ahead. 

Jason exited the office and descended to the bullpen, where Elle and Morgan sat at their desks.  Their chairs were turned to face each other, and JJ sat near them in a chair swiped from Reid’s desk.  As Jason approached, he realized that the three were going over Rebecca Bryant’s casefile.  “Reid still interviewing his mother?”

Elle snorted. “Last time I stuck my head in, Mrs. Reid was still railing about government goons forcing her to endure a four-hour-plus plane ride.” 

_So much for her having a good day,_ Jason thought irritably.  He would give these three their assignments, and then check in on Reid himself.  If he was not making progress, Jason would pull him out and set him on some other task.

* * *

 Erin sighed as she hung up the phone.  A warning from Reid that his mother had a flying phobia would have been nice.  The two agents who had escorted Mrs. Reid from Las Vegas had had an interesting time of it.  At least that was easily smoothed over.  Unlike Hotchner´s disappearance and her decision to call in David Rossi, which had kicked over a hornet's nest in the upper levels.

She had expected criticism over the decision: David had never been the most politic of agents, and his use of his Bureau career for personal gain had alienated many.  What Erin had not expected was the fact that David apparently had a fanboy in the upper echelons.  Some stray comment about missing the Bureau had reached the right ears, and Erin got grilled about David's receptiveness to a "controlled unretirement".

_Heaven help us all._

Erin looked at the man sitting across the desk from her.  "I'm getting asked why I allowed you to force open Agent Hotchner’s door when you've obviously not had recent training on how to do it safely."

David scowled.  "I didn't force it.  One of the CSU techs jimmied the lock, and I had it completely open when it swung back."

"And no one else had trouble with it?"

"No," David groused.  "I think a weight shifted wrong in the hinges."

"It's designed to automatically close?"

"I guess."  David shrugged.  "Anyway, there was minor evidence of a struggle in Aaron's house.  His cell phone was crushed on the floor, and a vase and statue of some sort were broken.  There were some messages on his home machine: mainly this office’s attempts to reach him, but two weren´t.  Some guy named Lorne wanted either Aaron or Haley.  Something about relaying a message from unnamed powers about Ringers and a deal.  Also, a message from an Anya with a warning about Ringers and potential.  She was worried about Haley becoming a target."

"Ringers," Erin repeated.  It sounded like a name a gang or terrorist group would come up with.  "That's not any group I'm familiar with."

"Reid didn't recognize it either.  Also, he noted that Aaron's travel bag was missing from the house and checked his car.  It wasn’t in there."

"Implying they may have planned to leave?"

David shrugged.  "They might have planned to stay at the sister-in-law's a few days.  She had supplies for do-it-yourself remodels in a couple of the rooms.  And she had childproofed a couple others."

"Anything about Albuquerque or anywhere else in New Mexico?"

David looked confused.  "No, why?"

"Ms. Garcia flagged the team in the computer system after the breach.  AFIS got some partial hits on Agent Hotchner´s prints from Albuquerque PD.  Some sort of incident in a convenience store.  We've requested further details, but haven't heard back yet."

"Albuquerque…"  David bit his lip in thought.  "That—"

A firm knock sounded on the door, and Gideon burst into the office before Erin could respond.  "Reid´s mother recognized the man on the video as Randall Garner and had a photo with an address on the back.  It's in Shiloh, Virginia.  Morgan's called a SWAT team and Legal´s getting a warrant.  They'll enter the house within an hour."

Erin nodded and thought over everything Garcia had found on Randall Garner: the man lost his entire family in a house fire, save for his youngest daughter, Rebecca who was found outside unharmed.   Garner was severely burned in an attempt to save the others, and landed in Intensive Care for months.  With no other relatives to look after the girl, he signed her over to social services and she was placed for adoption.  After his physical recovery, he was admitted to Bennington to treat his mental trauma.  "Good," Erin said.  "Did Mrs. Reid have anything about Garner that Garcia didn't track down?"

"Well, apparently the way he talked of ‘a Rebecca´ led Mrs. Reid to believe the girl wasn't real, but a Grail-figure that Garner thought up.  Also, we identified the girl in the video as Rebecca Bryant. Reported missing two years ago, her adoption by the Bryants would fit with Rebecca Garner´s timeline, though we need to get records unsealed to confirm that."

"He left the asylum to snatch his own daughter and keep her locked up because he thinks she's the Holy Grail?" Erin said.  "That's some hospital Reid found for his mother."

"Garner has to fully believe his delusion," Gideon said quietly.  "That's the only way his actions could be so meticulous and organized.  Without moments of varying lucidity, he could easily have convinced his doctors that he had recovered enough to be released."

"Bring her home.  And be careful."

* * *

"NO!" an all too familiar voice woke Rebecca from the fitful sleep she had fallen into.  And for the first time since she found herself in this hellhole, more than one set of footsteps reverberated through the floorboards over her head.  "IT'S NOT FOR YOU!  THE GRAIL STAYS—"  A loud thump sounded, and the strange footsteps came down the stairs. 

Hope welled in Rebecca's heart.  Countless days praying for rescue, and—

Two figures entered the basement in front of her cell: black robes, bald heads, and eyes gouged out with Greek letters and other symbols.  Rebecca tugged frantically at the shackle around her ankle.  A frenzied energy she had not known possible filled her, even as she felt her blood freeze.  Two more of the figures from her nightmares entered the basement as the first two opened her cell door.  One of the newcomers carried a blood-stained axe.  Rebecca knew instinctively that it had come from the death of her captor.

From her birth father, a man she had thought lost after he had plopped her on the ground and ran back into the house.  

A man far more unhinged by the fire and deaths than she had ever thought possible.

With nowhere to go, she shrank as far as she could into the corner of her bed, the cell wall biting into her back.  When one of the Bringers leaned over to grab her, Rebecca lunged into him and pried his weapon from his hands while second one punched her in the stomach.  The blow forced air from her lungs.  It also forced stomach acid into her mouth.  As the Bringer stepped away from her, Rebecca spotted a bloody dagger in its hand.  She slumped onto the bed, absently hearing the Bringers walk out as the dark basement grew darker. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my googling skills, the prison Faith broke out of, the Northern California Women´s Facility in Stockton, California, was “deactivated” the year her escape episode aired. With the choice of altering history so that the prison was still open in 2006, or moving Faith to an open women’s prison so I could research visiting hours and such… I opted to make one up in a location that, as far as I know, doesn’t exist in real life.

It sucked when they arrived too late to save the victims from the unsubs. 

Of course, in this case, they failed to save the unsub—well, technically Garner was now a _known_ subject—and his victim from an unsub or unsubs still to be determined. 

With a curse, Derek turned away from the body of Rebecca Bryant.  He absently ordered the SWAT agent to stay before he wearily walked up the stairs and out of the house.  The brisk night air chilled his skin.  The weather had definitely remembered that it was December.  Soft footsteps came up behind him.  Derek looked up as Elle stopped by his side.  "CSU should be here soon," she said. 

Derek nodded.  "Good.  How´s Gideon?"

"Withdrawn.  He´s been off ever since we got this case, but this scene… I think he feels we let go of Hotch´s trail for nothing."

"He´s not the only one," Derek admitted. “ God, I hope _this_ investigation doesn´t take priority over Hotch."  He gestured back at the crime scene.  "You think that´s wrong?"

"It´s human," Elle answered.  "And a feeling all of us have.  Except maybe Reid.  Whatever´s been on his mind, has distracted him from the full implications of this."

"Maybe he and Rossi found something."

"Then why wouldn´t he say anything?  Unless…  No, if the news was bad we´d be informed," Elle said.  "And if it were good…"

"Why keep it quiet?" Derek finished.  "I know."  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a tree. 

* * *

 

Dave might miss the feeling when he successfully caught a killer, but he did not miss sleep deprivation or working off of stale coffee at the crack of dawn.  Granted, he got up early with _decent_ coffee for his duck hunts, but the work involved was relaxing, not stressful. 

The throbbing from his nose did not help.

He dropped the report he had finished reading onto the file he had spread out on the coffee table in Aaron´s office.  Dave stared at the light coming in through the windows.  The forensics report from Aaron´s house offered nothing more than what he and Reid had gleaned.  The phone dump on Aaron´s home had revealed that an Anya Jenkins and someone from the Hyperion hotel in LA had called the Hotchner residence at the times an Anya and a Lorne had called to warn about Ringers.  Anya´s area code traced to a location in Aaron´s hometown, Sunnydale, California.  Erin had already submitted requests for any information on Ringers to LAPD, Sunnydale PD, and the California Bureau of Investigation.  Ian Edgerton was due back in Quantico today, and Jason and the rest of the team should be able to start working with him, which would hopefully help.  Though with little physical evidence, and not enough for a solid profile, there was little to lead them to the persons who had done this to Aaron and his family.

If anyone had done anything to them.

Despite what he had told Erin Strauss the night before, the missing travel bags and suggestions of struggles in _both_ houses raised unpleasant implications.  The fact that Jessica Brooks either owned an incomplete luggage set or managed to take a travel bag of her own added to it—as did the fact that Forensics found Aaron’s prints on the discarded license plates.  Of course, there could always be an alternate explanation. 

With a frustrated sigh, Dave leaned back over the coffee table and looked at the subpoenaed phone records.  Nothing from Brooks’ house or the cell phones…  Dave frowned and picked up Brooks’ records.  While she had no calls in or out the evening they vanished, her cell had pinged off the tower nearest Aaron’s place for a few hours before Haley’s GPS made the journey to her sister’s.  _So, the whole family was hanging out at Aaron’s,_ Dave thought, _and some sort of struggle occurred in the living room.  Then they went to the sister’s, and… what?_ Dave pulled the photos of the wrecked house out again.  The overkill in the vandalism suggested that whoever did it did not get what they wanted.  But if that were the case, Aaron and family fled to Albuquerque of their own volition, with no contact.  Dave tossed the photos onto the table and stared at Aaron’s personnel photo.  _Damn it, Aaron.  What the hell did you get yourself mixed up in, that you couldn’t call or come in for help?_

_Are you…  Are you dirty?_

Aaron had always struck Dave as a straight-arrow.  He had held himself as incorruptible, with no secrets in his closet.  As he remembered the younger man, every fiber of Dave’s being wanted to argue against Aaron crossing over to the criminal side, but people could change over time.  In the years since his retirement, he had seen or spoken to Aaron maybe five times. 

Dave closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.  Whatever had happened, he could not afford to shy away from investigating Aaron and his family if he wanted any hope of finding them.  He stood and left the office to find a researcher.

* * *

 

"You´re too skinny!"  Spencer blinked up from the Marjorie Kemp book he had been reading his mother for the last hour.  Diana Reid still clutched her son´s hand in a death grip.  She no longer bit the nails on her free hand though she still held it close to her mouth.  "It’s because you drink too much coffee and work on stuff that´s too sad," she continued.  “It’s not good for you.”

Spencer smiled, touched by the concern.  “I do all right.”

“You could do better.  You’ll _need_ to do better if the Heirs of Sineya fall.  It’s hungry, and it’s waiting.”

“It?” Spencer tried to sound casual. 

“You’ve only glimpsed Hell, Spencer.”  His mother patted his hand with her free hand.  “Don’t worry about me.  You made the right choice in placing me all those years ago.  It’s your team you need to look after. 

“Where is everyone?” she asked as she looked around the cabin.  “The Tristan discussion was supposed to start hours ago.”  Her gaze fell out the window, and Diana Reid began panicking anew at the distance from the ground.  Spencer resumed his reading to calm her.

Unfortunately, he could not calm his mind.  He knew from experience that not all his mother’s words should be discounted. 

Especially when they mirrored warnings from old friends.

* * *

 

_Dear Emily,_

_I'm sorry to hear how things are going for you.  Hopefully Aunt Elizabeth will change assignments soon.  If it makes you feel better, rich foreign kids aren't the only ones who can snub outsiders.  Dad agreed to let me throw a small party to meet the high school kids in the neighborhood.  Yeah, I can't believe he agreed either, but he made it clear he and Mom would keep a close eye on things and would not hesitate to call the cops if someone brought drugs or booze.  Anyway, we saw plenty of kids when we moved into the house but almost none of them showed up.  The ones that did trashed the house.  One tried to make out with Dad and then stabbed him in the neck with a carving fork!  Can you believe it?  He's fine—she didn't hit the arteries, but she must have yanked or twisted the fork so that the skin tore, because he looks like he has an animal bite on his neck.  They freaked Mom out too.  She's still crying in her room!_

_One of the kids trashing the place was some jackass who tore down my first set of flyers for the party with some condescending excuse about local cult taboos.   He brought friends who started fighting with the other group.  They claimed they were helping us, but it seems they´re rival gangs or something.  I think they were really trying to kill each other!  This one girl—the jackass called her Hails.  Some sort of street name, I guess—She certainly hit like a hailstorm; after she lost the wooden spike her group used as a weapon, she broke Mom’s heirloom table with a single punch and tried to impale the girl who necked Dad with a piece of it!  The table’s not the only thing broken: we lost the sofa, the television, Aunt Getty’s vase—the hideous one, thank God—several dishes and glasses, and other knickknacks.  We have holes in the drywall and this weird dust coating everything._

_But that’s not what makes me angriest.  The neighbors, the kids who didn’t come, even the police—who arrived well after everything was over—act like the attack’s our fault.  They’ve got this snobby attitude that we should have learned about the local groups’ beliefs and taboos.  You’d think we moved to another country, not another part of California!  Several people even flat-out said they tried warn us.  And some did say some things about Sunnydale’s cults or tribes, but they didn’t say anything helpful!  Mom and Dad are ex-Marines; they can handle petty criminals, and the notion that bad guys need to be invited in is downright childish!  This town sucks.  I am so not looking forward to school…_

With a sigh, Emily folded the letter back up and slipped it back into the scrapbook.  It was the last letter she received before her mother shipped her out of Italy and off to Aunt Jenny and Uncle Leroy to “straighten her out”.  The last letter before Emily’s life turned upside down.  Emily placed the scrapbook back in the nightstand by her bed.  She had never wanted to return to Sunnydale.  Unfortunately, her bids to transfer out of ST affairs had been rejected.  At this point, she did not care if she ever got into the BAU.  A desk job in Missouri would be preferable to the jobs she handled.

And it carried considerably less risk that the Bureau would find out certain facts about her.

Grumbling, Emily picked up her travel bag and stalked toward the door.  As she locked the door behind her, her cell rang.  She glanced at the caller ID and answered, “Prentiss, here…  I’m leaving now, sir.”

* * *

 

“David Rossi.  I didn’t think you were on the lecture schedule.”

Dave blinked up from his late lunch of cashew chicken.  At the open door stood a face Dave had not seen since his Marine days.  He had known that Edgerton had joined the Bureau, but their paths had not crossed before Dave´s retirement. 

"I´m not," Dave answered as he set the takeout carton on Aaron´s coffee table, well away from any of casefile.  He stood and walked over to the younger man.  "I´m helping out with something.  What are you up to?  You look well."

It was true.  Edgerton´s skin looked weathered and worn but the man held a friendly smile.  "Can´t complain.  So do you.  Mostly."  Edgerton dark eyes flickered to Dave´s bandaged nose before he glanced pointedly at the rest of the office.  "Hotchner step out?"  Dave winced at the question, and Edgerton´s eyes widened.  "What happened?"

"He´s gone missing… and things don´t look good."

"Damn."  Edgerton´s expression darkened.  "Do they need any help?"

Dave sighed as he considered Edgerton´s implied offer.  Aaron´s team would soon be joining things, and there was a balance between not enough help, and too much.  The last thing Dave wanted was so many hands they fell over each other.  On the other hand Edgerton, like him, might be more objective than Aaron´s team was likely to be.  "What brought you looking for him?" Dave asked.

"Had a request to contact Chief Strauss ASAP and brief her on a case I´d been ordered off of.  I have reason to believe that Hotchner knows more about the situation than I do."

Dave frowned at Edgerton, an uneasy suspicion forming.  "What do you do these days?" he asked. 

"Fugitive Recovery, when I´m not training agents for SWAT/HRT.  The case is a prison escapee, name of—"

"Lehane," Dave finished bluntly, and then cursed when Edgerton´s eyes widened and confirmed his guess.  Dave reached up and rubbed his forehead.  "Her prints came up in connection to Aaron´s case.  Wha—"

"YOU!"  Dave turned to find the colorful analyst storming up the mezzanine stairs, a thick file in her hand.  " _YOU_ DID THIS, YOU MISERABLE BITCHRAT!"  Garcia reached Dave, and in complete disregard for Edgerton´s presence thumped Dave in the chest with the edge of the file.  Hard.  "Whatever you think, Hotch´s a good man!” she hissed.  “We know that, and can be trusted to search his past without shying away, because we know that´ll be proven in the end!"  The file’s edge thumped Dave´s chest again.  " _No_ _one_ wants Hotch found more than our team, and I am the best damn technical analyst this bureau´s ever seen!  If you really needed to look into the past to find him, you should have told me.  I could have put this together in less time than any two techs combined, much less, that, that… _airhead_!"

Garcia shoved the entire file against Dave´s chest and released it.  Dave barely caught the file before it fell to the floor.  Garcia turned and stalked off toward the stairs.  " _I_ never let a hacker breach my system."  The curly-haired brunette Dave had requested pull the information stood at the foot of her stairs, her arms crossed over her chest.  "Perhaps you´ll find the real airhead in the mirror."

"Listen you…"

"What´s going on?" Gideon stepped out of the conference room.  Over his shoulder, Dave could see Erin entering the bullpen.  "Just word that we had gotten some information," Dave replied smoothly.  No one in the bullpen moved to contradict him.  "You ready for the briefing?"

Gideon nodded. 

"I´ll be right there."  Dave ducked back into the office, and shoved the existing file together.  "We´ll need to hear your story too," he said as he passed Edgerton.

"They´ve brought you back to work a case?"

Dave could hear the skepticism in Edgerton´s voice.  "There was a temporary shortage of manpower, an owed favor, and parties interested in writing clauses into my contract that limit the cases I can write about in the future."  Dave looked up.  "I _am_ qualified for what they had me consult on."

"I´m sure," Edgerton replied, his expression inscrutable.  "Well, lead the way… Bitchrat," he added with dry humor.

* * *

 

Ian and Rossi reached the room at the same time as the BAU´s new section chief.  "Chief Strauss," Ian greeted the blonde woman and extended his hand.  "It´s good to see you again."  Actually, Ian had only met the woman briefly and was indifferent to her.  Still, he might need to work with her in the future.  "I´m not sure how much I can help, though.  I was ordered off Lehane’s case less than a day after her escape."

Strauss nodded grimly.  "I understand," she said as she turned into the conference room.   "Every little—"

"What´s he doing here?" Gideon demanded as Ian walked into the room.  Aside from Gideon, Ian recognized two other agents in the room, Derek Morgan and Elle Greenaway who sat with Gideon at the round table.  The colorful tech who told off Rossi sat on an orange couch by the windowed wall, a laptop on her lap.  The curly haired brunette sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room, her arms crossed over her chest.  "With the Garner case wrapped up, we can focus on Hotch," Gideon continued. 

 "We got a hit on a fugitive case of his," Strauss said.  "But someone´s burying the woman´s movements in our system.  I called Edgerton to fill in what he can."  Strauss pulled a chair out from the round conference table and sat a couple feet to the side of it, and a little behind Gideon.  "Agent Jareau is talking with a representative of the PD in question, and Dr. Reid won´t land for another hour.  They can catch up then."

Recognizing his cue, Ian pulled a slim folder out of his carry bag as Rossi sat next to Gideon. "I´m afraid I don´t have a casefile," he said as he sat next to Rossi and flipped through the folder´s contents.  "I was ordered off the case, and most of the materials were forwarded to whoever´s now handling it.  However, a couple photos, and a copy of my notes were misfiled."

From the amused and skeptical looks around the conference room, everybody suspected the "misfile" was no accident.  But really, this proved Ian´s hunch that he would need some evidence that such an escape actually occurred.  He handed the photos—a mug shot and a couple frames from the visiting room´s video feed—to Gideon, who sat closest to where Ian stood.  “At ten am, October 13, Faith Whitney Lehane staged a rather… unusual breakout from the Stockton Women´s Facility in Sutton, California.  In the middle of a visit, she stepped back from the partition and then _dove_ through it as if it were merely sugar glass.”

“Sugar glass?” Rossi asked as Gideon finished looking at the photos and passed them over to Strauss.  She barely glanced at each one before handing them to Rossi.

“It´s what Hollywood usually uses when they need glass broken on-screen," Ian answered.  "It´s more fragile and the shards less sharp."

"Is it possible someone put the wrong type of glass in?" Greenway asked.

"No," Strauss answered before Ian could.  "It´s literally a form of hard candy, albeit not tasty.  A substitution could not happen by accident, and there´s no way everyone wouldn´t have noticed if someone tried it intentionally."

"Since when did you care about special effects?" Rossi muttered. 

"Since your eldest goddaughter wants to be a stuntwoman, and spent last summer cooking the stuff up in our kitchen," Strauss shot back.  "But how did Lehane manage to break through real plate glass?" she asked turning back to Ian.

"Forget that," Morgan said, staring at the photo in his hand.  "How the hell did she not get sliced to ribbons and bleed to death?"  Strauss frowned, but did not say anything to Morgan.

 “Well, Lehane cut herself up a bit,” Ian resumed his briefing, “but somehow managed to cause the glass to shatter away from her.  And no one knows _how_ she did it.  The best guess anyone came up with was that she somehow spotted and exploited a flaw in the window.  Anyway, after she cleared the partition, she somersaulted to her feet and quickly knocked out both guards in the visitation room.  She then grabbed a chair and smashed out one of the windows over the visitor’s parking, grabbed her visitor by his jacket, and leapt out the window with him.  After falling two stories onto the roof of a blue coupe, the pair were able to pick themselves up and run to the man´s SUV."

" _Two_ stories?" Gideon asked.   

"Yes.  The man seemed to favor one leg as they scrambled away, but Lehane did not appear hurt, though she seems to have intentionally taken the brunt of the fall.  They drove out of the visitor’s lot before security was notified.  Enough blood was left behind for a tox screen.  Lehane was not under the influence of PCP or steroids.” 

Under the table, Ian absently tapped his knee.  “As if that weren’t odd enough, the escape appears to have been spontaneous, at least on Lehane’s part.  The guy visiting her had produced ID that convinced the guards he was Lehane’s lawyer, so they did not record audio, but video surveillance exists.  Two minutes into the conversation, Lehane paled at whatever he said.  The next thing she said had her visitor drop the phone and scramble away from the glass as she made her move.  Additionally, Lehane went out of her way to injure the guards as little as possible.  She´s clearly skilled at hand-to-hand combat, and could have killed them both with far less effort.  All the guards for her cell block agreed that Lehane is dangerous, but doesn’t cause trouble.  In fact, the only major incident she was involved in over the last year was an inmate who had attempted to assassinate her the day before her escape.  The guards also shared the opinion that Lehane could have escaped at any point during her stay.  Rather odd for the remorseless thrill killer her file described, so I looked further into her history to try to get feel for who she really was.  I didn´t get much, but something doesn´t add up.  Four years ago, Lehane was accused of stabbing one Alan Finch, the deputy mayor of Sunnydale, California, through the heart.  She turned herself in, apparently on advice of counsel, and the Sunnydale DA promptly charged her with fleeing the scene of an accident."

"Accident?" Greenaway asked sharply.  "I can understand not charging her with homicide if they could only prove she was there, but how did they come up with that?"

"From what I gathered, the detectives had already found witnesses that claimed Lehane overreacted when Finch grabbed her shoulder from behind just after she and an associate fended off an attack by half a dozen gang members.  Lehane spun as she struck, and tried to stop the bleeding when she realized that Finch was not an assailant.  She only fled after Finch died and appeared more traumatized than fleeing punishment.  As she was barely eighteen, and the detectives connected the gang in question to the disappearances of other young women, the prosecutor allowed Faith to plead to a reduced charge. She was ordered to attend counseling and community service—the later she served in the mayor´s office."  The number of raised eyebrows amused Ian, but honestly _that_ arrangement had thrown him too.  "Twenty months ago, Lehane was arrested and charged with Finch´s murder in Los Angeles.  It seems it was a ploy to leverage her cooperation with a recently launched state probe into corruption in Sunnydale’s PD, courts and Mayor´s Office.  It didn´t work.

"With the evidentiary and jurisdictional issues, her case looked to be a long, drawn-out battle.  Then for some reason, the investigations into Sunnydale disappeared and she was quickly sentenced.  Unfortunately, I got pulled from the case before I could request the court transcripts."  Ian stood and walked to a coffee pot in the corner of the room. 

"That´s it?" Rossi asked incredulously as Ian pulled a Styrofoam cup off the top of the small stack.  "You said Aaron should know more about the case than you do."

Ian shrugged as he poured the coffee and tried to appear casual.  "Hotchner’s name, cell, and American Bar ID number were listed in Lehane’s emergency contact info at the prison," he replied, keeping his back to the group.  "Not that I realized that he was that A. H. Hotchner until I called…"  Ian paused as he set the pot back on the burner.  “It was a short conversation.  He assured me that if he heard from her, he would try to convince her to turn herself in, but that he had a case to concentrate on.  I was ordered off Lehane so soon after that, I thought he had something to do with it.  But when he called back, he seemed genuinely surprised."

Ian turned back to the table.  "He asked who had taken over the case.  As I had no idea, I referred him to the AD who ordered me off.  Hotchner never said why he called, or how he was associated with Lehane."

"Could Lehane be undercover?" Morgan asked.

"What kind of undercover work entails death-defying breakouts?" Rossi asked.

"I don´t know," Morgan shrugged.  "But it would have to have a huge potential payout, with folks that need hard-core convincing.  And, well Hotch _was_ posted out west before he took over the BAU."

"In _Seattle_ ," Greenaway said.  "And even if he had been in California, they´d have changed to another contact when he transferred out."

"Besides, Lehane just turned twenty-two," Ian pointed out.  "That´s too young for Bureau recruitment."  And as far as Ian knew, Hotchner had never run an undercover op.

"You sure?" Strauss asked.  "She looks older."

Ian nodded and was about to speak when the brunette technical analyst said, "Agent Hotchner and the sisters grew up in Sunnydale.  He could be a friend of Lehane´s family."

Ian shook his head and said, "Lehane´s from Boston."  At the same time Morgan blurted, "Hotch is _Californian_!?"

The woman nodded.  "Born and raised.  Agent Hotchner still has family ties to Sunnydale, and possibly the mayor´s office, so he still could have been asked to look out for her."

The other technical analyst bristled in all of her colorful glory.  "Hotch would never be involved in anything shady!”

“I wasn’t saying he was part of the alleged corruption, Garcia.  It could have just been a harmless favor for an old friend worried about the girl.  But if his disappearance _does_ link back to Sunnydale, his past might not be as clean as you think.”  

Garcia snorted and relaxed back into the couch.  “Trust me,” she said as a tall, slender blonde walked into the room.  “Whatever you think you know, however it may look, Hotch makes straight arrows look bent.  He would never anything illegal, and _never_ look the other way.”

* * *

 

 The blond-haired Anya released Aaron from the long bear hug she had enveloped him in.  She stepped back into the yellow house and gave Haley, Faith, and Jessica quick hugs before she turned to the room.  “That’s Dawn, Buffy’s sister,” she gestured at a tall, brunette teenage girl on the telephone.  “Willow,” a redhead Roger’s age, sitting on the sofa, who nodded briefly before turning to the black-haired woman next to her, “and her girlfriend, Kennedy.  Rona, Pilar,”  Four teenage girls playing scrabble.  “Natalie an—”

“Hey, who ate the last Pepperoni Hot Pocket?” a short, blond-haired boy asked as he walked into the room.  “I clearly had my name on the box.  “See?”  He held up the box to the room at large.  "Eh.  En.  Dee—”

“That’s Andrew,” Anya said.  “He’s our hostage.”

“Hey!” Andrew protested.  “Guest, now!”

“Hostage?” Aaron asked.  He sounded as comforted by the description as Roger felt.

“He was enthralled by the First,” Anya said.  “Then he wasn’t.  He was too annoying to keep prisoner, so we untied him, but he refused to leave.”

“I’m on a noble, yet laborious quest to redeem my stained past and earn my spot at the Hero—”

“You’re a pathetic little worm whose tenuous grip on reality allowed the alleged ghost of a misogynistic loser to convince you to sacrifice your best friend in an attempt to summon a Turok-Han,” Anya said harshly.   “Then when said friend had insufficient blood volume, you got so freaked at slaughtering a mere piglet that you began to break free.  The only traits in your favor are passable cooking skills and being moderately tolerable when you can move about freely.”

Andrew folded his arms over his chest.  “Just for that, you can’t have any soufflé.”  He frowned over at Roger and the Brooks.  “You guys staying here, too?”

“Yes.”  Anya stepped to Aaron’s side.  “This is my grandbaby, Aaron.”  She patted his arm.  Suddenly everyone else in the living room stared at their group.

_Grandbaby?_ Roger wondered.  This Anya looked to be in her mid-twenties, whereas Aaron was pushing forty. 

“His wife, Haley, sister-in-law, Jessica, psychically-adopted daughter Faith, who’s actual relation to his mother is too involved to bother explaining, and a fake redhead I’ve never seen before.”  Anya looked pointedly at Roger.

“Er, Roger,” she said quickly, waving at the room in general.  “Grandbaby?” she asked, looking from Anya to Aaron and back. 

“Wel—”

“She’s far older than she looks,” Aaron said quickly.  He turned to Anya.  “Is there a good place to get caught up with events?  We had to clear out of DC quickly and Lorne could only fill in so many blanks.”

"Sure.  Right this way."  Anya led them through the door Andrew had emerged from and into a kitchen full of girls.  She glanced out the window at the people working out in the backyard.  "Er, maybe the basement…"

* * *

 

"Whatever Hotch´s connection to Lehane," Gideon said as JJ entered the room.  "If she´s involved in his disappearance, we needed everything we can get on what she´s involved in."  He turned to Edgerton.  "Who ordered you off her case?"

"AD Wright, out of the LA field office." 

Strauss stiffened and frowned at the words.  "I see," she said flatly.  Elle´s stomach sank with certainty that Strauss had already discussed Lehane with him.  Strauss turned to JJ.  "What news do you have?"

"Albuquerque PD has agreed to e-mail the security video to Garcia."

"Albuquerque?" Gideon asked. 

"That´s where the AFIS hit on Lehane´s and Agent Hotchner´s prints originated," Strauss said.  She folded her hands together on the table in front of her. 

JJ nodded as her eyes swept through the conference room.  Elle saw her frown at Edgerton and the new tech.  _What’s her name, Holly?  Haley?_

  “It was a late night disturbance in a convenience store, Ma’am,” JJ said.  “A small group rushed the store and attacked the customers and cashier.  AFIS flagged Hotch and Lehane as possible matches to partial prints, but until we see the footage, it’s impossible to tell if they were in the store at the time of the attack, or even at the same time.”  She walked over to sit next to Garcia, who was booting up her laptop.

“Have the matches been confirmed yet?" Morgan asked.  “Why—”

“You know him Jayje?” Garcia’s voice drew attention Elle’s attention.  She looked over shoulder and saw JJ staring at the photos Edgerton had passed around the conference room. 

“Hotch does,” JJ said. 

“How would you know?” Gideon asked sharply.  Angrily.  “ _What_ do you know?”

JJ looked up at the room at large, and quickly composed her expression.  “He came looking for Hotch when we were in LA on that stalking case.  He was waiting in the parking lot at the hotel when Hotch and I drove back that last night.  It was odd.”  JJ frowned as stared at the floor.  “Hotch didn’t seem happy to see him from the start, but after he realized the guy was limping, he got angry… The guy claimed he tripped, and Hotch said that he had heard the man fell down two stories—"  Across the room, Edgerton crushed the Styrofoam cup in his hand.  Elle´s stomach fell at the implications of Hotch withholding the ID of Lehane's escape partner. 

"—And that he should have known it was him when he first got some call…" JJ continued, frowning as she concentrated on the memory.  "That made the guy uneasy, but he insisted that whatever Hotch had heard, had good reason.  That he’d explain and Hotch would be able to verify most of it with the appropriate people in the Bureau, and related agencies…  I believe he referenced an ST division at some point.

"Hotch told the guy he that had five minutes and that it had better be worth checking out.  They went off to the side, about fifteen feet away and talked quietly for several minutes before they seemed to get into an argument.  I didn’t hear much until Hotch said the guy could wait for his story to be verified.  That was when Morgan called to me, and I guess Hotch was distracted too, because when I looked back, the guy had vanished and Hotch was rushing between cars and looking around.  He looked furious when he gave up and entered the hotel.”   

Elle remembered when she and Morgan returned to the hotel.  Furious did not cover Hotch’s demeanor when he emerged from the shadows.  Incensed came closer, but the man had dismissed inquires and stalked off to his room.

“I remember that,” Morgan frowned.  “Hotch was still making calls the next morning.  I’d thought we were going to get a PR nightmare or come under review or something.”

"From seeing him talk to someone in a parking lot?" Strauss asked. 

"We didn´t see Hotch at first, much less anyone else," Elle said.  "JJ was staring in his direction and looked worried, so Morgan asked if she was okay…  When Hotch emerged from the shadows, he was holding his phone.  I assumed he´d gotten a call, but all he said was that it wasn´t anything we had to worry about that night…  He must have believed this guy´s story, or least considered it plausible, if he didn´t send us after him."

"We hope," Rossi muttered.  Then he sighed at the glares sent his way and stared at JJ.  "You´re sure Aaron tried to keep the guy there as he checked out the story?"

"His exact words were ´So long the world´s still not due to end _this_ week, you can afford to wait while I check´.  I remember because Hotch isn´t normally prone to hyperbole."

_You can say that again,_ Elle thought.  _Though under the circumstances..._

"Okay," Gideon said, sounding defeated.  "Lehane _is_ connected to Hotch, and we have to determine how."  He glanced over at Garcia.  "Even if it means entertaining the possibility that he wasn´t always as clean as we thought."  Garcia squirmed under Gideon´s gaze, but eventually she nodded and stared at her lap, her obvious protest unspoken.  "Ms. Jones," Gideon shifted his gaze to Garcia´s brunette rival, "you pulled Hotch´s financials for Rossi?"  The tech nodded.  "You find anything unusual?"

"No, not really.  The Hotchners _do_ keep a portion of their income in an offshore account, but it´s not money they´re trying to hide: they report it on their tax returns and all deposits are transfers from their Commerce money market account.  The transfers tend to correspond to Haley Hotchner´s consulting work, a—"

"What consulting work?" Elle asked.  "I never caught what she does."  She _had_ asked Haley what she did once, when she first met the woman while Hotch was profiling for the Seattle field office, but the conversation got sidetracked.

"Come to think of it, neither did I," JJ said.

"I thought she was a housewife," Morgan said.  "Hotch always says he needs to call home, when he wants to talk to her."  Next to him, Gideon nodded.

Garcia shook her head.  "She works _from_ the home," her disappointment with Morgan evident in her tone.  "Some sort of artist."

Jones snorted.  "Hardly.  She´s a translator."

Garcia frowned and shook her head.  "No, I heard her complaining to Hotch about characters missing from a mural a few weeks before they put her on bedrest."

"Her second doctorate was in ancient languages," Jones said.  "Specifically in the differences between Sumerian and Babylonian cuneiform.  She does some work for museums," Jones said.  "But most of her consulting fees are paid by the CIA, NSA, and sometimes the Bureau, which I can´t find an explanation for."

"Well, what´d she get the first Ph.D. in?" Rossi asked. 

"World Mythology."

"Oh.  Not that, then," Rossi said. 

"How often can she consult for the Bureau?" JJ asked.  "If it´s a lot, wouldn´t she have a civilian employee ID rather than using a visitor’s pass when she visits Hotch?"

"Depends on if her work requires a security clearance," Gideon said.

" _And_ if the Hotchners or the government felt her work was sensitive enough to keep quiet about," Edgerton spoke up from his corner of the room.  "Linguistics ability lends itself to cryptography or more current languages."

Strauss nodded.  "If it´s both, she´d be in high demand.  Possibly have the option of protection."

"And a whole new list of possibilities behind the family´s disappearance," Gideon said.  He rubbed his forehead.  "I´ll see if my contacts at the CIA can shed any light on the nature of Haley´s work, and any risk it may pose."

"What about the sister?" Rossi asked.  "Any skeletons in her closet?"

"Not that I can tell.  Ms. Brooks has a biochemistry masters and a DVM from the Western University of Health Sciences, and currently works at a major vet clinic in Maryland.  She moved to the DC area three months ago.  Before that, she was involved with research at Ohio´s State´s College of Veterinary Medicine.  No financial or legal difficulties.  No husband or ex-husbands."

"Well, she´s unlikely to be the main target, then," Strauss commented.

Elle frowned, willing the pieces to form some sort of picture.  Her mind refused to respond with ideas.

"Guys, I just got the video," Garcia said.

"Can you play it for us?" Rossi asked at the same time Gideon said "Put it on the screen".

In a couple minutes, the video began playing on the wall.  Clearly the product of a low-end security system, the grainy video showed Aaron Hotchner filling travel mugs from the coffee dispenser.  Twenty feet behind him, a redheaded woman sat reading a book in a dining area.  The store clerk moved in and out of the video frame as he stocked cigarettes behind the register.  The tape played a few seconds before two black-robed figures walked into the store, with some sort of mask over their faces that made them look like their eyes were gouged out and scarred over with Greek letters.  The two split, one going left out of the screen, while the other went toward the girl reading, raising a large ax to strike.  The girl glanced out the window beside her, then spun and ducked as she caught sight of the robed guy´s reflection.  At the same time, Hotch turned and dropped the mug he was holding as he rushed to the girl´s aid. 

Hotch got intercepted and nearly skewered by a third robed figure that came out a door labeled "employees only" next to the soda dispenser.  As Hotch defended himself from his assailant, the redhead at the window threw her book at the ax-wielding robed man and leapt over the table.  She grabbed her backpack off the table as she vaulted it, and then shoved the table into her assailant.

The robed figure who had walked off-screen suddenly flew back and landed on a magazine rack.  Lehane rushed after him.  Behind her, Jessica Brooks emerged, an infant carrier in her hands. 

The assailant who landed on the magazines pushed himself to his feet, only for Lehane to punch him squarely in the nose.  The man stumbled back, but grabbed a dagger from his belt.  Lehane grabbed his wrist to stop the blade's decent. 

The redhead glanced wildly around the store, doubtless in search of aid or escape. 

A gasp filled the room as the camera caught her face.  Elle turned to Strauss, who had turned grey.  "Karen?" Strauss squeaked as a visibly shaken Rossi reached for her hand.


End file.
